OLUTION 


ESTHER 
SINGLETON 


\ 


is 
0  rf  5 

Ar     I    iSi 


A   DAUGHTER   OF 
THE  REVOLUTION 


A  DAUGHTER  OF  THE 
REVOLUTION 


BY 

ESTHER  SINGLETON 


NEW  YORK 

MOFFAT,  YARD  &  COMPANY 
1915 


Copyright,  1915,  by 
MOFFAT.  YARD  &  COMPANY 


To 

* 


Friend  of  many  years 
^Those  sympathy 
Crowns  all  my  efforts 


2138348 


CONTENTS 

CHAPTER  PAGE 

I  MILDRED  ASHTON  COMES\  DOWN  THE  STAIRWAY      .  i 

II    WILD  ACRES 10 

III  MRS.  CARROLL'S  BOARDING-HOUSE 21 

IV  BREAKING  THE  ICE 31 

V    A  BALTIMORE  SUPPER 45 

VI  A  JOURNALISTIC  NOVICE 63 

VII  A  SUNDAY  SPECIAL 76 

VIII  BLAKE'S  PLEASURE  PALACE 87 

IX  HOUSE  OF  CARDS 96 

X  AN  EVENING  RECEPTION no 

XI  THE  RIFT  WITHIN  THE  LUTE 123 

XII  A  LITTLE  DINNER  PARTY 133 

XIII  AT  THE  OPERA 144 

XIV  SOLITUDE 161 

XV  NOTES  AND  FLOWERS 173 

XVI  A  BALL  AT  THE  PLAZA 182 

XVII  AN  AFTERNOON  CALL 194 

XVIII  IN  WASHINGTON 206 

XIX  AN  OLD  WORK-BOX 225 

XX  A  REVOLUTIONARY  DIARY 238 

XXI  Two  INVITATIONS 261 

XXII  A  SUNDAY  MORNING 275 

XXIII      TWIXT  THE  CUP  AND  THE  LlP 285 

XXIV    YE  SUN  WILL  SHINE 294 


A  DAUGHTER  OF  THE 
REVOLUTION 

CHAPTER  I 

MILDRED  ASHTON  COMES  DOWN  THE 
STAIRWAY 

ON  a  bright  day  in  November,  1910,  Mil- 
dred Ashton  started  down  the  wide  stair- 
way of  Wild  Acr'es,  the  old  Ashton  home  on 
Long  Island,  as  the  tall  clock  on  the  landing 
was  beginning  to  strike  twelve  hollow,  boom- 
ing notes.  The  laughing  moon  that  peeped 
over  the  clouds  above  the  handsome  dial  saw 
a  charming  girl  of  twenty;  her  graceful  figure 
erect,  her  head  slightly  tilted,  her  left  hand 
lightly  touching  the  mahogany  rail,  her  slen- 
der foot  arched  and  the  tip  of  her  red  slipper 
daintily  pointed  and  ready  to  be  placed  upon 
the  step  below  in  what  one  sensitive  to  line 
would  have  properly  described  as  "the  minuet 
pose." 

z 


2        A  DAUGHTER  OF  THE  REVOLUTION 

Unconsciously  she  came  down  the  stairway 
of  Wild  Acres  in  exactly  the  same  way  that 
Dolly  Ashton,  a  famous  belle  of  Revolution- 
ary days,  had  often  descended,  although  no 
one  knew  this  but  the  laughing  moon.  If  the 
latter  noticed  that  the  girl  of  the  Twentieth 
Century  held  her  head  in  the  same  proud  way, 
had  the  same  delicate  features  and  slender 
aristocratic  hands  and  feet,  that  she  carried 
with  her  a  slight  perfume  of  roses,  and  that 
she  moved  with  the  same  quick  grace  he  kept 
this  knowledge  to  himself.  He  greeted  the 
young  girl  of  1910  with  the  same  cheery, 
though  vapid,  smile  with  which  he  had  al- 
ways greeted  her  ancestress  of  1776,  little  car- 
ing that  such  a  trifling  thing  as  himself  should 
have  lived  through  a  hundred  and  fifty  odd 
years  while  beauty,  mind,  heart  and  grace  had 
crumbled  into  dust.  Moreover,  the  old  clock, 
which,  with  its  solemn  tick-tock,  tick-tock, 
tick-tock,  had  summoned  him  to  his  duty  of 
denoting  the  real  full  moon  for  so  many  gener- 
ations, little  cared  whether  its  own  slow  notes 
that  reverberated  through  the  house  marked 
hours  of  joy,  or  hours  of  sadness.  With  equal 
indifference  it  had  struck  its  gong  for  many 
births,  marriages  and  deaths,  all  duly  re- 


MILDRED  COMES  DOWN  STAIRWAY        3 

corded  in  the  family  Bible  that  had  rested  on 
its  mahogany  stand  in  the  library  ever  since 
John  Ashton  had  placed  it  there  in  1758, 
when  the  house  was  completed. 

The  twelve  notes  were  now  striking  an  hour 
of  sadness.  At  least,  it;was  an  hour  of  sadness 
to  Mildred;  for,  although  she  was  coming 
down  the  stairs  lightly,  her  heart  was  very 
heavy. 

It  had  been  found  necessary  to  rent  Wild 
Acres;  and  Mildred  had  just  received  a  letter 
from  Mr.  Thomas  Small,  the  one  real  estate 
man  in  Port  Washington,  notifying  her  that 
he  had  procured  a  desirable  tenant  who  wished 
to  lease  the  estate  for  two  years. 

Wild  Acres  was  very  dear  to  Mildred  Ash- 
ton;  for  here,  she,  an  orphan,  had  spent  the 
happy  years  of  her  childhood  and  girlhood 
with  her  grandfather  and  grandmother  in  the 
delightful  home  that  they  made.  On  their 
deaths,  which  occurred  almost  simultaneously, 
she  had  passed  into  the  guardianship  of  a 
widowed  and  childless  aunt,  Mrs.  Van  Nor- 
den,  who,  caring  little  for  Wild  Acres  and 
nothing  whatever  for  Mildred,  appeared 
from  Paris,  where  she  had  lived  for  years,  in 
mourning  of  the  latest  cut  and  style,  to  attend 


4        A  DAUGHTER  OF  THE  REVOLUTION 

to  the  necessary  matters  of  business.  She,  the 
sole  heir  to  the  Ashton  estate,  having  signed 
all  the  documents,  took  passage  as  soon  as  pos- 
sible on  La  Provence  for  her  beloved  Paris. 

Mildred,  invited,  but  not  pressed  very 
much,  to  accompany  her  aunt,  preferred  to 
remain  in  New  York;  and  Mrs.  Van  Norden, 
rejoicing  to  be  free  of  a  young  companion, 
who  might  bore  her,  placed  her  under  the 
sheltering  wing  of  one  of  her  own  early 
friends,  Mrs.  Steele,  who  was  delighted  to 
welcome  Mildred  to  her  large  and  lonely 
house  on  Park  Avenue.  Mrs.  Van  Norden 
allowed  her  niece  sufficient  income  to  provide 
herself  with  all  the  necessities  and  luxuries 
that  her  social  position  demanded.  Mrs.  Van 
Norden  closed  Wild  Acres,  sold  the  horses 
and  the  fine  herd  of  Jerseys,  and  gave  away 
the  peacocks  and  the  fancy  pigeons.  The 
gardener  was  allowed  to  care  for  the  green- 
houses and  gardens  and  to  make  what  he  could 
out  of  them.  For  several  years  afterwards 
Wild  Acres  was  only  opened  for  a  few  weeks 
in  the  summer,  when  Mildred  and  Mrs.  Steele 
ran  down  for  a  brief  visit. 

Mildred  awoke  with  a  shock  to  the  loss 
of  her  dearly-loved  grandparents  and  her 


MILDRED  COMES  DOWN  STAIRWAY        5 

changed  conditions;  but  youth  soon  adapts  it- 
self to  change ;  and  it  was  not  long  before  she, 
being  of  a  cheerful  disposition,  was  happy  in 
her  studies  in  music  and  French,  in  her  danc- 
ing-class at  Dodworth's,  and  in  the  social  gai- 
ties  of  the  younger  set. 

Four  years  had  passed.  Mildred's  twen- 
tieth mile-post  brought  her  face  to  face  with 
new  conditions. 

"One  woe  doth  tread  upon  another's  heel, 
So  fast  they  follow," 

and  so  it  seemed  to  Mildred.  Mrs.  Steele's 
sudden  death  was  followed  by  that  of  Mrs. 
Van  Norden  and  Wild  Acres  became  the 
property  of  Mildred  Ashton,  next  of  kin.  To 
own  Wild  Acres  delighted  her  greatly;  but 
the  next  news  received  from  Mr.  Carpenter, 
the  family  lawyer,  revealed  the  unwelcome 
fact  that  Mrs.  Van  Norden,  having  run 
through  the  family  fortune,  had  mortgaged 
Wild  Acres.  There  was  nothing  left  to  pay 
off  this  mortgage,  nor  to  keep  up  Wild  Acres 
were  it  paid. 

Calling  at  the  Steele  house  in  Park  Avenue, 
where  Mildred  was  now  packing  for  removal 
to  Wild  Acres,  Mr.  Carpenter  told  the  grand- 


6        A  DAUGHTER  OF  THE  REVOLUTION 

daughter  of  his  old  friend,  John  Ashton,  that 
there  was  but  one  thing  to  do;  and  that  was  to 
rent  Wild  Acres,  to  pay  off  the  mortgage  and 
the  taxes,  and  to  keep  up  the  place. 

"Oh,  I  couldn't  think  of  it,"  cried  Mildred, 
at  the  first  suggestion,  "it  seems  a  desecration. 
I  can't  bear  to  think  of  strangers  at  Wild 
Acres.  I  hate  to  think  of  strangers  living  in 
our  dear  old  home  and  using  all  our  things, 
roaming  about  the  lawns  and  the  lovely  gar- 
dens. Oh,  I  couldn't  think  of  it,  Mr.  Car- 
penter." 

"There  is  no  other  way  out  of  it,  my  child," 
answered  Mr.  Carpenter,  his  eyes  slightly 
moistening  as  he  remembered  past  hospitality 
and  happy  hours  in  the  home  of  his  old 
friends,  "unless,"  he  paused,  "unless  you  sell 
it." 

"Sell  Wild  Acres!"  cried  Mildred,  indig- 
nantly. "NEVER!"  Then,  after  a  short  pause 
and  with  a  sad,  gentle  intonation,  "Will  it 
really  have  to  be  rented,  Mr.  Carpenter?" 

"Yes,"  the  lawyer  replied,  "there  is  nothing 
else  to  do." 

"Oh,  dear!"  sighed  Mildred  softly. 

"I  am  going  to  Port  Washington  to-morrow. 
You  give  me  the  authority,  and  I  will  see  Tom 


MILDRED  COMES  DOWN  STAIRWAY       7 

Small  and  get  him  to  find  us  a  good  and  reli- 
able tenant.  My  dear  child,"  added  Mr. 
Carpenter,  noting  the  pain  in  her  face,  "there 
is  no  other  way.  And  now,"  he  continued, 
bringing  out,  with  a  calmness  that  amazed 
him,  the  question  he  had  been  dreading  to  ask, 
"what  about  your  future?" 

"My  future?"  Mildred  questioned,  lifting 
her  brows  in  surprise  and  opening  her  big 
brown  eyes  very  wide. 

"Yes,  my  dear,"  replied  Mr.  Carpenter, 
"your  future.  Don't  you  know  that  Mrs.  Van 
Norden  left  nothing?  Your  base  of  supplies 
is  cut  off." 

"What  do  you  mean,  Mr.  Carpenter?" 
asked  Mildred;  and  then  a  quick  light  of  in- 
telligence came  into  her  eyes.  "Do  you  mean 
that  I" — here  she  paused — "that  I  shall  have 
to  work — to  earn  my  own  living?"  She 
brought  the  words  out  very  slowly,  as  if  she 
could  hardly  bear  to  speak  them. 

"I  am  afraid  so,"  answered  the  lawyer, 
bluntly. 

At  that  moment  Mildred  felt  as  a  young 
bird  must  feel  that  is  suddenly  taken  to  the 
edge  of  the  nest  and  pushed  by  an  unfeeling 
mother  into  the  abyss  of  air  below,  without 


8        A  DAUGHTER  OF  THE  REVOLUTION 

any  knowledge  of  the  use  of  its  wings.  Mil- 
dred was  frightened — frightened  as  we  all  are 
of  the  unknown,  the  untried. 

She  merely  replied  with  white  lips,  "Thank 
you,  Mr.  Carpenter,  for  telling  me.  I  will 
write  you  a  letter  authorizing  you  to  rent 
Wild  Acres,  dreadful  as  it  is  for  me  to  do  it. 
It  is  strange  to  realize  that  I  have  nothing  to 
take  care  of  me — that  I  must  work  for  myself 
— that  I  am  alone  in  the  world  and  suddenly 
penniless.  Mrs.  Steele,  too,  who  would  have 
helped  me  so  much  with  good  advice  and  lov- 
ing sympathy,  is  gone.  I  must  go  and  think 
things  out  alone;  so,  good-bye,  Mr.  Carpenter. 
Thank  you  very  much." 

Mr.  Carpenter  rose  and  took  the  icy  hand 
that  the  young  girl  held  to  him.  "Good-bye, 
Mildred,"  he  replied.  "Things  will  come 
right  in  the  end,  I  am  sure." 

"They  only  do  in  novels,  Mr.  Carpenter," 
laughed  Mildred,  trying  to  be  gay.  "Thank 
you  again,  and  good-bye.  Please  come  to  see 
me  at  Wild  Acres.  I  am  going  down  to-mor- 
row. Perhaps,  I  may  be  able  to  tell  you  then 
what  I  shall  have  decided  to  do." 

Mildred  had  only  been  three  days  in  her 
home  when  the  letter  already  referred  to  from 


MILDRED  COMES  DOWN  STAIRWAY        9 

Mr.  Small  arrived  announcing  the  capture  of 
a  tenant.  In  the  meantime,  she  had  been  try- 
ing to  balance  the  possibilities  of  success  and 
failure,  if  she  chose  to  attempt  a  musical,  or  a 
literary,  career.  Mildred  knew  very  well 
that  she  was  an  accomplished  pianist, — but 
would  her  music,  always  a  delight  in  the 
drawing-rooms  of  friends,  stand  the  test  of 
cold  and  professional  critics  if  she  placed  it 
in  a  larger  frame?  She  hardly  thought  so. 
She  had  seen  too  many  ambitious  young  pian- 
ists fail  before  New  York  audiences. 

Mildred  was  an  unusually  sympathetic  ac- 
companist. Many  artists  for  whom  she  had 
occasionally  played  had  complimented  her  on 
her  dependable  support  and  her  musical  in- 
sight into  such  songs  as  Robert  Franz's,  Schu- 
bert's and  Schumann's;  but  she  did  not  care 
to  specialize  in  this  thankless  branch  of  music. 
As  for  giving  lessons, — that  idea  was  intoler- 
able. So,  after  much  deliberation,  she  de- 
cided to  try  her  fortune  with  her  pen. 

She  was  now  coming  downstairs  to  see  Mr. 
Carpenter,  whose  name  had  just  been  an- 
nounced. 


CHAPTER  II 

WILD  ACRES 

TT  TILD  ACRES  was  one  of  those  delight- 
V  V  ful  New  York  houses  that  has  survived 
to  tell  of  the  life  and  luxuries  of  past  genera- 
tions. It  was  built  in  the  days  just  preceding 
the  passage  of  the  Stamp  Act;  and,  conse- 
quently, was  of  a  type  that  we  now  love  to  call 
Colonial,  though  Georgian  would  be  a  much 
more  descriptive  adjective.  Nor  is  that  ad- 
jective quite  enough.  The  style  of  architec- 
ture is  so  distinctively  American  that  Geor- 
gian-American, or  American-Georgian,  would 
be  a  still  better  designation. 

Its  white  clapboards  and  green  shutters, 
Wild  Acres  shared  in  common  with  many  a 
simple  Long  Island  farm-house;  but  not  its 
ample  proportions;  and  certainly  not  its  hand- 
some Neo-Classic  portico,  whose  four  tall  and 
slender  columns  supported  a  pediment  deco- 
rated with  corbels  and  pierced  in  the  centre 
by  a  half-circle  window. 

10 


WILD  ACRES  it 

Wild  Acres  was  distinguished  by  a  recessed 
balcony  that  only  ran  across  part  of  the  second 
story;  and  here  was  a  handsome  door  that  led 
from  the  hall  to  the  balcony,  with  decorative 
side-lights  and  fan-light,  corresponding  to  the 
main  entrance  door  in  the  floor  below. 

Having  never  been  without  occupants, 
Wild  Acres  had  escaped  that  dreary  atmos- 
phere that  gathers  around  some  old  houses  and 
suggests  an  old  nest  that  the  birds  have  for- 
saken. 

The  sides  of  the  portico  steps  had  always 
been  adorned  with  tubs  of  blooming  flowers 
and  the  little  balcony  above  had  always  been 
filled  with  pots  and  tubs  and  boxes  of  blossom- 
ing plants.  Mildred  still  kept  up  this  custom. 

At  the  left  side  of  the  house  an  enormous 
wistaria  had  been  growing  as  long  as  the  old- 
est inhabitants  of  Port  Washington  could  re- 
member and  had  now  twined  its  large  and 
thickly  twisted  ropes  around  one  of  the  col- 
umns and  over  half  of  the  balcony.  In  the 
Spring  its  enormous  blossoms  appeared  from 
a  distance  like  a  shower  of  purple  rain. 

It  is  almost  needless  to  say  that  this  fagade 
looked  towards  the  main  entrance  gate,  some 
distance  away,  to  which  the  beautifully 


12      A  DAUGHTER  OF  THE  REVOLUTION 

trimmed  lawn  rolled  with  a  gentle  undulation. 
Upon  this  green  velvet  various  fine  old 
trees  were  grouped:  cedars,  spruces,  copper- 
beeches,  silver  poplars  and  horse-chestnuts. 
Two  Lombardy  poplars  had  guarded  the  en- 
trance gate  since  the  early  days  of  the  Nine- 
teenth Century,  when  Thomas  Jefferson  did 
so  much  to  make  this  kind  of  tree  fashionable 
in  America.  The  carriage-drive  circled  in 
front  of  the  portico  around  a  green  oval,  in  the 
centre  of  which  stood  in  the  Summer  a  large 
and  valuable  palm  that  had  been  in  the  fam- 
ily long  before  Mildred's  advent.  At  inter- 
vals along  the  driveway  large  tubs  of  luxu- 
riant, pale  blue  hydrangeas  had  always  been 
placed  in  the  early  days  of  June  erer  since 
Mildred  could  remember. 

The  distinguishing  feature  of  the  other  side 
of  Wild  Acres  that  faced  the  Sound,  was  a 
large  and  wide  verandah,  smothered  with 
honeysuckle  and  pink  roses.  The  lawn  on  this 
side,  thickly  set  with  maples,  swept  to  the 
bluff,  which  was  densely  wooded.  On  the 
left  a  tennis-court  had  been  laid  out  some  forty 
years  ago.  Beyond  this  were  two  large  con- 
servatories and  the  series  of  lovely  flower-gar- 
dens; beyond  them  lay  the  kitchen-gardens; 


WILD  ACRES  13 

and  still  beyond  stretched  fields  of  wheat  and 
clover.  Along  the  bluff,  for  half  a  mile,  a 
grove  of  forest  trees  completely  screened  the 
bank;  and  through  this  woods  a  mossy,  wind- 
ing path  led  down  a  wild  tangle  of  under- 
growth mingled  with  ferns,  honeysuckle,  Vir- 
ginia creeper,  eglantincx  and  wild  flowers  of 
many  kinds,  to  the  sandy  shore  and  its  small 
dock. 

It  is  hard  to  say  when  Wild  Acres  looked 
its  best.  Perhaps  it  was  in  the  Spring,  when 
the  crocuses  were  darting  up  through  the  grass 
and  the  beds  of  tulips  showed  miraculous  cups 
of  red,  gold  and  purple;  when  the  wistaria 
was  swaying  its  blossoms  in  the  gentle  breezes; 
when  the  periwinkle  was  just  beginning  to 
open  those  mysterious  and  illusive  pale  blue 
stars  beneath  glossy  leaves;  when  the  peonies 
were  bending  low  with  the  weight  of  their 
spicy  globes  of  red,  white  and  pink;  when  the 
syringas  were  dropping  their  petals  of  per- 
fumed snow;  and  when  the  lilac  bushes  were 
nothing  but  mists  of  purplish  pink. 

However,  Wild  Acres  was  delightful  at  all 
seasons,  within  as  well  as  without.  The  old 
house  had  been  fortunate  in  never  having 
passed  from  the  possession  of  the  family. 


14      A  DAUGHTER  OF  THE  REVOLUTION 

Consequently,  whoever  entered  the  door  felt 
instinctively  the  continuous  life  of  generations, 
whose  social  position  had  never  been  ques- 
tioned and  whose  fortunes  had  never  been  dis- 
turbed. 

To  the  original  furniture  of  the  Anglo- 
Dutch  and  Chippendale  periods,  bought  when 
the  house  was  finished  in  the  middle  of  the 
Eighteenth  Century,  later  generations  had 
added  various  articles  in  the  new  fashions  as 
they  came  in,  so  that  now  the  house  was  a  veri- 
table museum  of  old  furniture,  china,  silver 
and  cut-glass.  Old  costumes,  swords,  pow- 
der-horns and  relics  of  many  kinds  were 
stowed  away  in  the  attic. 

Portraits  of  the  Ashtons  still  hung  in  the 
hall,  drawing-room  and  library;  but  Mildred 
had  distributed  the  colored  English  prints  and 
mezzotints  in  the  dining-room  and  bedrooms. 

The  last  three  days  that  she  had  been  spend- 
ing in  her  old  home,  so  soon  to  pass  into  the 
keeping  of  strangers,  made  Mildred  very  sad. 
She  lived  over  again  the  happy  memories  of 
her  childhood  and  began  to  feel  the  loss  of 
her  grandfather  and  grandmother  more  keenly 
than  ever  before.  Now  it  seemed  as  if  they 
had  really  vanished  from  her  forever. 


WILD  ACRES  15 

Mrs.  OToole,  a  faithful  retainer  of  the 
Ashtons  long  before  Mildred's  day,  and  who, 
therefore,  considered  herself  as  knowing  much 
more  about  the  family's  tastes  and  prejudices 
than  Mildred  could  ever  hope  to  know,  had 
been  helping  her  get  the  house  ready  for  the 
tenants.  They  had  now  finished  their  task. 
Mildred  was  making  her  last  round  of  inspec- 
tion, accompanied  by  the  old  housekeeper. 

"Mrs.  OToole,"  said  Mildred,  as  they 
paused  in  her  grandmother's  room,  so  full  of 
loved  memories,  "call  John  and  tell  him  to 
carry  this  work-table  into  the  attic,"  as  her 
eyes  fell  on  the  delicate  Louis  Seize  mahogany 
desk  with  its  tambour  shutter,  where  she  had 
learned  from  her  grandmother  to  sew  daintily 
and  beautifully.  "I  can't  let  strangers  use 
that"  she  added,  "and — oh,  wait  a  minute, 
Mrs.  OToole,  let  him  take  the  mahogany 
knife-boxes  in  the  dining-room.  It  isn't 
necessary  to  leave  those  for  the  tenants." 

"Indade,  Miss  Mildred,  indade  I'd  be  lav- 
ing thim  a  great  deal  less,  if  I  had  my  way. 
They  have  too  much  intirely,"  replied  the 
sympathetic  Mrs.  OToole,  wiping  her  eyes 
with  the  corner  of  her  green  and  white  checked 
gingham  apron,  "I  wish  we  could  lave  our- 


16      A  DAUGHTER  OF  THE  REVOLUTION 

selves   here   and   have   the   old   days   back." 

"Then  lock  the  attic  door,"  continued  Mil- 
dred, "and  bring  the  key  to  me." 

There  was  nothing  now  to  be  done.  Mil- 
dred, therefore,  had  a  little  time  to  take  fare- 
well of  the  gardens. 

The  gardens  of  Wild  Acres  were  framed  in 
tall  walls  of  cedar,  each  wall  broken  by  a  hol- 
lowed out  and  deeply  recessed  arch,  through 
which  you  passed  into  the  next  garden. 
Around  these  cedar  arbors  and  in  the  centre 
of  each  garden  were  box-bordered  flower 
beds. 

It  would  have  been  a  bad  time  to  have  taken 
a  stranger  through  these  gardens;  but  Mil- 
dred looked  at  them  with  a  retrospectivt  eye 
and  saw  far  more  than  the  few  frost-bitten 
dahlias,  chrysanthemums  and  late  asters  that 
were  withering  on  their  brittle  stalks.  These 
gardens  were  planted  many  years  before  the 
fashion  of  making  gardens  of  a  special  color. 
Consequently,  flowers  of  all  sizes,  of  all  kinds, 
of  all  hues,  and  of  all  scents  mingled  here  in 
a  perfect  riot  of  delight  from  early  Spring  to 
late  Autumn. 

"Here  is  the  old  calycanthus  shrub,"  ex- 
claimed Mildred,  as  she  entered  the  first  gar- 


WILD  ACRES  17 

den,  "how  I  used  to  delight  in  crushing  its  stiff 
purple-brown  buds  in  my  hand;  here  by  the 
white  spiraea,  which  always  blooms  so  early  in 
the  Spring,  I  used  to  come  and  wonder  at  the 
sprays  of  delicate  pink  Bleeding-Hearts  in  the 
neighboring  bed ;  here,  I  used  to  look  for  the 
cowslips  to  peep  up  at  me  from  under  their 
leaves  and  thought  perhaps  one  day  I  might 
find  Ariel  asleep  in  one  of  the  blossoms ;  here 
were  the  Johnny  Jump-ups,  which  I  was  silly 
enough  to  imagine  were  little  fairy  boys;  here 
grew  the  Snap-Dragons,  that  I  was  so  afraid 
of,  with  their  savage  blood-stained  jaws;  here 
were  the  fox-gloves;  this  is  where  the  Sweet 
William  grew — I  always  thought  it  was  the 
ghost  that  came  to  Margaret  in  the  old  ballad 
and  avoided  it;  here,  the  brown  velvet  wall 
flowers  (I  smell  them  now!)  ;  here  the  Can- 
terbury Bells;  here,  the  Bachelors'  Buttons; 
here,  the  Mourning  Bride;  here  the  Lady 
Washington  geranium,  which  I  used  to  insist 
on  having  pinned  on  my  little  low-necked  lace 
dress  when  I  was  going  to  a  party,  partly  be- 
cause I  loved  its  decorative  velvet  petals  and 
partly  because  its  name  seemed  to  give  me  dis- 
tinction ;  here  is  where  the  larkspur  lifts  its  tall 
blue  spears;  here  are  the  heliotrope  beds; 


18      A  DAUGHTER  OF  THE  REVOLUTION 

here,  the  mignonette;  and  here  is  the  bed  of 
verbenas,  from  which  I  used  to  pull  flowers 
to  make  a  wreath  for  my  doll,  by  sticking  the 
tiny  blossoms  one  into  another;  here  is  a  clump 
of  ribbon-grass;  here  the  Dusty  Miller;  here 
are  the  marigolds — 

'And  winking  Mary-buds  begin 
To  ope  their  golden  eyes' ; 

Here  is  the  lily  garden,  with  the  yellow  and 
white  day  lilies  and  the  tiger-lilies;  here  is  the 
violet  bed;  here  is  the  lily-of-the-valley  bed; 
and  here  are  the  currants  and  gooseberries." 

Thus  Mildred  wandered  from  garden  to 
garden  until  she  reached  the  last  of  the  series, 
the  garden  of  little  fruits,  which  led  to  the 
special  pride  of  the  Ashtons, — the  Rosary. 

The  Rosary  was  entered  by  descending  ten 
broad  grass  steps  cut  into  the  terrace;  for  it 
was  a  sunken  garden.  There  were  roses,  roses, 
roses  everywhere!  There  were  arbors  of 
roses ;  there  were  frames  of  roses ;  there  were 
trellises  over  which  the  roses  climbed  and  tum- 
bled over  again  in  masses  of  bloom;  there  were 
huge  bushes;  there  were  little  bushes;  there 
were  tall  single  roses ;  there  were  dwarf  single 
roses;  there  were  roses  sprawling  on  the 


WILD  ACRES  19 

ground;  and  roses  wreathed  and  enwreathed 
the  large  stone  Sun-dial  in  the  very  centre  of 
the  garden. 

All  of  these  were  framed  in  by  four  immense 
walls  of  roses  growing  on  high  trellises.  The 
old-fashioned  Baltimore  Belle  and  Queen  of 
the  Prairie  struggled  with  the  pink  and  crim- 
son Ramblers  and  Dorothy  Perkins  to  see 
which  could  climb  the  highest  and  blossom  the 
most. 

People  learned  in  roses  recognized  the 
sweet  Hundred-Leaved;  the  small  Burgundy; 
the  large,  delicious  Cabbage  from  Provence; 
various  Noisettes;  the  little  Bansias;  the 
Maiden's  Blush;  the  Madame  Plantier;  the 
York  and  Lancaster,  red,  white  and  mottled; 
the  magnificent  Jacqueminot;  the  eglantine; 
and  tea-roses  of  many  kinds. 

The  Rosary  was,  therefore,  a  mass  of  scar- 
let, pink,  crimson,  orange,  yellow  and  white 
blossoms  that  lavishly  showered  petals  and  in- 
cense upon  the  ground  and  in  the  air. 

"I  am  glad,"  sighed  Mildred,  "that  I  do 
not  have  to  leave  in  .blossoming  time.  I  do 
not  believe  I  could  have  stood  it." 

So  saying,  Mildred  walked  to  the  centre 
of  the  garden  to  look  once  more  at  the  Sun- 


20      A  DAUGHTER  OF  THE  REVOLUTION 

dial.  A  long  twig  was  lying  across  the  plate. 
She  pulled  it  aside  to  read  again  the  familiar 
legend : 

"I  mark  ye  hours, 

Man  notes  ye  time; 
Spite  storme  and  showers 

Ye  sun  will  shine." 

"Dear  old  Sun-dial!"  exclaimed  Mildred, 
encircling  it  with  her  arms  and  laying  her 
head  upon  them,  "you  want  to  cheer  me  up,— 
don't  you?  You  have  a  new  message  for  me 
to-day.  It's  storming  very  hard  just  now,  dear 
old  Sun-dial;  but  I  will  try  to  see  your  sun. 
I  will  carry  your  message  with  me  to  New 
York:  I  will  try  to  see  the  sunshine." 


CHAPTER  III 

MRS.  CARROLL'S  BOARDING-HOUSE 

\ 
"TTOW  glad   I   am   that  I   know  New 

JTl  York,"  Mildred  thought  through  her 
tears,  as  she  watched  the  familiar  landscapes 
flit  by  the  car  window.  "So  many  young 
girls,  like  me,  starting  out  on  a  new  career, 
arrive  in  the  great  city,  which  is  totally  un- 
known to  them.  Fortunately  I  know  New 
York  so  well,  that  I  go  with  half  the  battle 
conquered." 

Then,  after  a  long  interval,  she  began  to 
wonder  how  she  was  going  to  manage  with  so 
small  a  capital  as  the  fifty  dollars  Mr.  Carpen- 
ter had  just  put  into  her  hands,  she  exclaimed 
inwardly:  "Good  heavens!  Haven't  I  got  a 
task  to  make  this  money  go  a  long  way?" 
Then  she  laughingly  admitted  to  herself 
that  "It's  too  much!  It's  altogether  too  much 
for  my  good.  People  who  make  their  for- 
tunes always  arrive  in  New  York  with  fifty 
cents  in  their  pockets.  I  am  afraid  that  such 

21 


22      A  DAUGHTER  OF  THE  REVOLUTION 

wealth    as   mine   will    ruin   my   prospects!" 

Mildred  also  considered  herself  fortunate 
in  having  a  place  to  go.  She  had  taken  the 
precaution  to  write  to  a  Mrs.  Carroll,  who 
kept  a  boarding-house  on  Lexington  Avenue 
near  Fortieth  Street,  where  Mildred's  French 
teacher,  Madame  Pinard,  had  lived  for  sev- 
eral years. 

Naturally,  Mrs.  Carroll  was  only  too 
pleased  to  reserve  a  room  for  Miss  Ashton  of 
Wild  Acres,  Long  Island. 

Not  yet  used  to  the  ways  and  means  of  a 
restricted  purse,  Mildred,  although  encum- 
bered only  with  her  tightly-rolled  and  silver- 
handled  umbrella,  took  a  taxi-cab  on  her  ar- 
rival at  the  Pennsylvania  Station,  giving  the 
address,  Lexington  Avenue  and  Fortieth 
Street,  to  the  driver. 

"I  suppose  some  people  would  consider  this 
an  extravagance,"  said  Mildred;  "but  I  shall 
feel  less  depressed  if  I  arrive  in  this  way." 

Mrs.  Carroll's  was  not  a  typical  New  York 
boarding-house;  and  the  reason  of  this  was 
that  Mrs.  Carroll,  a  "reduced"  Southern  lady, 
could  never  bring  herself  to  acknowledge  that 
she  kept  boarders.  Mrs.  Carroll  always  told 
old  friends  and  new  acquaintances  that  she 


MRS.  CARROLL'S  BOARDING-HOUSE      23 

had  "a  few  people — nice  people — live  with 
her,  during  the  season,  to  help  meet  her  ex- 
penses. Living  in  New  York  was  so  dearl" 
And  these  nice  people  she  always  referred  to 
as  "my  guests." 

The  "guests"  also  deceived  themselves  with 
the  pleasant  fiction  of  living  in  a  "home." 

"Oh,  come  now,  this  isn't  going  to  be  so 
bad,"  Mildred  tried  to  persuade  herself  as 
she  sat  in  the  dreary  parlor  waiting  for  Mrs. 
Carroll  to  come  and  receive  her.  But  if  any 
one  had  entered  just  then,  he  would  have  no- 
ticed that  the  lids  of  Mildred's  big,  brown 
eyes  were  slightly  red. 

Mrs.  Carroll  was  evidently  dressing  for  the 
occasion;  and  to  Mrs.  Carroll  it  was  some- 
thing of  an  occasion  to  welcome  Miss  Ashton 
into  her  "family."  She  only  hoped  that 
Miss  Ashton  would  become  a  permanent 
"guest"  for  the  season.  As  to  the  possibility 
of  having  Miss  Ashton  for  an  indefinite  period 
Mrs.  Carroll  never  dreamed;  for  of  course, 
Mildred  had  not  informed  Mrs.  Carroll  of 
the  renting  of  Wild  Acres. 

The  room  which  during  her  occasional  calls 
upon  Madame  Pinard,  Mildred  had  regarded 
with  such  unconcern,  now  assumed  a  new  as- 


24      A  DAUGHTER  OF  THE  REVOLUTION 

pect.  It  was  to  become  a  part  of  her  back- 
ground,— and  for  how  long? 

Mildred  put  the  question  to  herself,  and  had 
to  swallow  heavily. 

As  she  sat  there  waiting  for  Mrs.  Carroll, 
the  atmosphere  of  the  room  began  to  assert  it- 
self and  the  room  seemed  to  say:  "I  am  a 
boarding-house  parlor.  Every  boarding- 
house  parlor  has  something  in  common  with 
every  other  boarding-house  parlor;  and  we 
all  have  a  nameless  something  that  we  make 
you  feel  if  you  sit  in  us  long  enough.  We  are 
all  depressing!  We  glory  in  itl" 

"Well,  one  thing,"  said  Mildred  to  herself, 
"the  room  is  fairly  comfortable,  even  if  it 
doesn't  obey  the  strictest  canons  of  art.  Let's 
look  around!  First,  the  mantel-piece  is  un- 
objectionable, with  that  square  black  marble 
clock.  Of  course,  /  wouldn't  have  those  col- 
ored grasses  in  those  tall  vases.  They're  aw- 
ful 1  Nor  would  I  ever,  for  one  moment,  have 
a  gas  log. — Oh,  my  beautiful,  big,  blazing 
logs  at  Wild  Acres!  Hush !  No  memories  just 
now! — I  abominate  gas  logs.  This  is  a  fairly 
good — no,  it  is  a  very  good  Bokhara  rug. 
You  wouldn't  expect  to  find  a  rug  like  this  in 
a  boarding-house.  Very  much  worn  at  the 


MRS.  CARROLL'S  BOARDING-HOUSE      25 

corner  farthest  away,  over  which  that  big  chair 
is  so  carefully  placed.  Ah!  that  explains  the 
rug, — probably  bought  at  auction, — cheap! 
Now  for  the  chairs!  What  a  jumble!  Two 
big,  high-backed,  easy  chairs  covered  with  red 
plush !  Three  wicker, — no,  five  wicker  chairs 
with  cretonne  cushions!  A  large  rocking- 
chair!  Why  will  they  always  have  rocking- 
chairs  in  the  boarding-house  parlor?  A  big 
square  sofa — also  in  red  plush — in  that  dark 
corner!  It  looks  suspiciously  as  if  somebody 
slept  on  it  at  night!  This  sofa  that  I  am  sit- 
ting on  is  very  comfortable;  it  is  too  small  for 
a  bed;  and,  besides,  it  is  of  such  a  shape  that 
nobody  could  recline  on  it.  Onyx  table  be- 
tween the  windows  with  two  gilt  chairs  beside 
it!  Sole  concession  to  elegance!  Vase  of 
withered  flowers!  Why  do  people  leave  stale 
flowers  about? 

"  'Lilies  that  fester  smell  far  worse  than  weeds.' " 

Then  an  ornate  cabinet  in  the  other  dark 
corner  caught  Mildred's  eye.  An  elaborate 
series  of  shelves  decorated  its  wide  front,  a 
mass  of  machine-made  carving.  Every  one  of 
these  shelves  contained  a  china,  or  a  glass,  or- 
nament of  some  kind.  Did  it  think  in  its  as- 


26      A  DAUGHTER  OF  THE  REVOLUTION 

sertive  dishonesty  that  it  could  deceive  Mil- 
dred, or  any  one  else  as  to  its  real  mission  in 
life?  Never. 

"I  fear,"  said  Mildred,  "that  is  a  folding- 
bed!  But  why  do  they  consider  it  necessary 
to  over-decorate  it?  What  a  nuisance  it  must 
be  to  take  down  all  those  ornaments  every 
night, — and  where  do  they  put  them?  A 
cloud  of  cabinet  by  day,  a  pillow  of  bed  by 
night!" 

Next  Mildred  began  to  examine  the  pic- 
tures. "Oh,  my  goodness!"  she  exclaimed, 
"look  at  those  three  water-colors,  in  broad 
gold  frames,  each  one  half  a  yard  square! 
Poppies!  I  never  saw  poppies  of  that  shade! 
Hollyhocks!  Red,  pink  and  yellow  amid  a 
blurr  of  unnatural,  green  leaves!  I  wonder 
why  they  made  the  poppies  so  large  and  the 
hollyhocks  so  small?  Last,  a  bunch  of  lilacs 
with  a  white  kitten  peeping  through  the  blos- 
soms !  I  wonder  what's  behind  my  back,"  and 
Mildred  screwed  herself  around  to  see  what 
was  hanging  over  the  sofa.  "Oh,  a  very 
brown  'etching,'  I  suppose  they  call  it,  repre- 
senting a  wet  meadow  with  tall  grasses  in  the 
foreground,  a  large  and  very  brown  house  in 
the  background  and  behind  it  the  setting  sun. 


MRS.  CARROLL'S  BOARDING-HOUSE      27 

The  unknown  artist  has  not  only  signed  the 
picture,  but  has  contributed  a  'remarque'  on 
the  margin!  Valuable  thing!  Isn't  that  ter- 
rific? I  have  often  wondered  where  such  pic- 
tures that  I  have  seen  in  department  stores 
and  cheap  picture-shops  go.  Now  I  know, — 
boarding-houses!  I  suppose  that  is  the  de- 
ceased wife's  husband;  no,  I  mean  the  de- 
ceased husband  of  the  wife  over  the  mantel- 
piece !  No,  it  couldn't  be  Mr.  Carroll :  it's  too 
old.  He  is  wearing  a  stock.  Oh,  he  looks 
something  like  Henry  Clay  and  something  like 
John  C.  Calhoun!  Possibly  it  is  Mrs.  Car- 
roll's father.  I  believe  she  came  from  South 
Carolina  and  married  a  Virginian,  or  a  Mary- 
lander,  or  something  of  that  kind." 

Mildred  got  up  to  look  at  the  portrait. 
"Why!"  she  exclaimed  aloud,  "it  is  signed 
Thomas  Sully!  No  wonder  it's  good!" 

At  this  moment  Mrs.  Carroll  appeared. 

"I  was  just  looking  at  this  portrait,  Mrs. 
Carroll,"  said  Mildred,  turning  around  as  she 
heard  Mrs.  Carroll's  step.  "I've  come,  you 
see!" 

"That  is  my  father,"  said  Mrs.  Carroll, 
warmly  shaking  Mildred's  outstretched  hand, 
"Thomas  Pickens  Fairfield.  I'm  a  Fairfield, 


28      A  DAUGHTER  OF  THE  REVOLUTION 

you  know,"  she  added  proudly,  "a  Fairfield  of 
Tulip  Hill,  Goose  Creek." 

Mildred  did  not  know;  but  she  politely 
feigned  long  acquaintance  with  the  House  of 
Fairfield. 

"I'm  mighty  glad,  Miss  Ashton,  that  you  are 
going  to  be  with  us  this  Winter.  I  think  you 
will  like  my  little  family.  We  are  very  so- 
ciable here  and  I  hope  you  will  feel  at  home 
right  away.  I  will  have  to  give  you  a  very 
small  room;  but  you  shall  have  a  little  gas 
stove,  if  you  wish.  Would  you  like  to  see 
your  room  now?" 

"Yes,  thank  you,  Mrs.  Carroll,"  replied 
Mildred,  following  Mrs.  Carroll  up  the  car- 
peted stairs. 

The  backbone  of  Mrs.  Carroll's  income  was 
derived  from  the  second  floor,  which  was  oc- 
cupied by  two  wealthy  and  exclusive  Balti- 
more ladies.  Their  meals  were  served  in 
their  apartments  and  they  made  it  a  special 
principle  of  their  lives  not  to  see,  nor  to  be 
seen  by,  any  of  the  other  inmates,  if  possible. 
The  two  floors  above  were  cut  up  into  a  num- 
ber of  small  rooms  in  which  were  lodged  as 
varied  an  assortment  of  types  as  were  gathered 


MRS.  CARROLL'S  BOARDING-HOUSE      29 

on  the  top  of  the  Quangle-Wangle's  famous 
hat. 

To  one  of  these  little  rooms  Mrs.  Carroll 
conducted  Mildred. 

It  was  clean  and  neat,  and  that  was  all  you 
could  say  for  it.  A  water-color  of  the  same 
school  as  those  in  the  parlor — and  which  Mil- 
dred promptly  decided  to  remove — was  the 
sole  decoration  of  the  walls,  which  were 
hung  with  a  very  hideous  paper  representing 
sprawling  green  and  brown  roses.  The  little 
white  iron  bedstead,  with  a  clean  white  spread 
and  small  pillow,  made  Mildred  think,  with 
a  shudder,  of  hospitals.  A  narrow  oak  chif- 
fonier with  a  small,  square  looking-glass,  and 
a  cheap,  cane  rocking-chair  took  up  nearly  all 
the  space  that  the  bed  had  left.  There  was 
just  a  passage-way  between.  A  clean  dotted 
muslin  curtain  draped  the  very  small  win- 
dow, longer  than  it  was  high,  for  this  top 
floor  was  but  a  half-story.  The  carpet  was 
brown. 

"If  there  is  anything  that  you  would  like 
to  have,  Miss  Ashton,  don't  hesitate  to  ring 
for  Saidee.  She  is  not  very  efficient,  but  she 
is  docile."  And  with  that  Mrs.  Carroll  left, 


30      A  DAUGHTER  OF  THE  REVOLUTION 

coming  back  to  add :    "We  dine  here  at  six." 
Mildred    closed    the    door.     She    looked 
around.     It  was  a  little  too  much  for  Mildred. 
She  fell  on  the  bed  and  burst  into  tears. 


CHAPTER  IV, 

BREAKING  THE  ICE 

\ 

MILDRED  was  spared  the  pain  of  hear- 
ing a  dinner-bell.  Mrs.  Carroll  had 
never  condescended  to  having  a  bell  rung  in 
her  house,  even  if  she  was  forced  to  keep 
boarders.  The  few  "guests,"  who  were  in  the 
habit  of  assembling  in  the  parlor  at  a  quarter 
to  six,  always  heard  Oscar,  Mrs.  Carroll's 
"colored  boy"  from  Charleston,  "pronounce 
dinner,"  as  he  designated  the  ceremony.  The 
other  "guests"  had  to  consult  their  own 
watches  and  clocks.  Hunger  made  some  of 
them  punctual;  others  straggled  in  from  six 
to  seven. 

At  first,  Mildred  was  tempted  to  say  that 
she  had  dined,  for  she  shrank  from  initiation 
into  the  "family";  not  because  of  timidity — 
she  was  used  to  people — but  because  she  was 
exclusive  and  tenacious  of  her  privacy.  Her 
good  sense,  however,  soon  got  the  better  of  her 
inclination;  and,  realizing  that  if  it  were  not 

31 


32      A  DAUGHTER  OF  THE  REVOLUTION 

to-day  it  must  be  to-morrow,  she  decided  to 
make  the  plunge. 

As  she  was  arranging  her  hair — her  wealth 
of  soft,  brown  hair  streaked  with  golden 
threads — her  little  glass  told  her  that  her  eyes 
would  be  improved  by  bathing  them,  unless 
she  wished  the  other  boarders  to  gossip  about 
the  tell-tale  evidences  of  tears. 

"They  might  think  I  am  having  some  dread- 
ful love-affair,"  she  said;  "that  will  never 
do";  and  Mildred,  therefore,  bathed  her  eyes 
violently.  Then  she  put  on  one  of  her  sim- 
plest afternoon  dresses, — a  silvery  gray  wa- 
tered silk,  with  gray  silk  stockings  and  suede 
slippers  to  match,  and  clasped  a  string  of  little 
coral  beads  around  her  neck. 

Looking  once  again  in  the  mirror,  she  was 
glad  to  see  that  the  effect  of  the  tears  had  van- 
ished ;  but  she  did  not  note  that  the  exertion  of 
dressing  had  given  her  a  lovely  color,  which 
the  gray  dress  set  off  most  charmingly. 

The  other  boarders  did,  however,  for  when 
she  appeared  it  seemed  to  all  that  a  light  came 
into  the  dingy  dining-room. 

Mildred's  heart  sank  as  she  looked  at  the 
table.  It  was  long  and  narrow,  and  the  coarse 
table-cloth  had  seen  cleaner  days.  Each  plate 


BREAKING  THE  ICE  33 

was  accompanied  by  two  knives,  two  forks, 
two  spoons  (one  large  and  one  small),  a  nap- 
kin in  a  ring  and  a  little  glass  lighthouse  of 
salt  with  a  perforated  top,  silver-plated. 

Mrs.  Carroll,  who  was  waiting  at  the  door 
for  Mildred,  refrained  from  introducing  her 
to  the  whole  table  as  she\had  at  first  intended ; 
for  a  quick  look  at  her  face  made  the  land- 
lady appreciate  that  this  was  a  new  and  trying 
experience  for  Mildred.  The  boarders  were 
all  gathered  together.  They  were  particu- 
larly punctual  this  evening;  for  the  report  had 
circulated  that  there  was  to  be  a  new  and  at- 
tractive arrival.  Mrs.  Carroll  only  introduced 
Mildred's  right  and  left  neighbors,  Mr.  Ber- 
nard Fogg  and  Mr.  Charles  J.  Williams,  and 
a  lady  opposite,  Miss  Cornelia  Van  Tassel. 

Mr.  Bernard  Fogg  was  an  Englishman  of 
about  thirty-five,  whose  energies  were  divided 
between  professional  ballad-singing  and  click- 
ing at  a  typewriter;  Mr.  Charles  J.  Williams, 
was  about  twenty-five  and  a  law-student  at 
Columbia  University;  and  Miss  Van  Tassel 
was  one  of  the  last  remnants  of  an  ancient 
Knickerbocker  family. 

Mrs.  Carroll  always  served  the  soup.  It 
was  stewed  oysters  this  evening.  Oscar  took 


34   A  DAUGHTER  OF  THE  REVOLUTION 

each  plate  as  it  was  filled  by  Mrs.  Carroll, 
carried  it  away  and  placed  it  in  front  of  a 
"guest."  Two  oysters  swam  in  the  thin  milky 
liquid  of  each  plate. 

"New  arrival  must  be  a  favorite  with  the 
Missus,"  said  Charlie  Williams  to  himself,  as 
he  counted  in  Mildred's  plate  seven  of  the 
little  knots  of  crustaceans. 

Having  removed  the  soup-plates,  Oscar  next 
came  from  the  pantry  bearing  in  each  hand  a 
thick  white  plate,  on  which  was  a  small  strip 
of  beefsteak  with  a  little  gravy  beside  it. 
After  he  deposited  these,  he  went  back  for 
more;  and  so  on,  until  the  whole  table  of 
twelve  had  been  served.  Saidee  (Mildred  in- 
ferred it  was  Saidee)  followed  in  Oscar's  wake 
with  two  large,  round,  vegetable  dishes;  one 
containing  mashed  potatoes,  the  other  stewed 
tomatoes,  very  watery  and  unseasoned.  Next, 
Oscar  brought  to  each  a  plateful  of  fairly  fresh 
lettuce  with  the  French  dressing  already 
made,  which  Mildred  thought  excruciatingly 
acid.  Saidee  followed  close  behind  with  a 
long-shaped  dish  of  sliced  ham,  which  she 
offered  to  each  in  turn.  Next,  Oscar  went 
from  each  to  each  with  the  burning  question 
of  "cabinet  pudding,  or  stewed  prunes?" 


BREAKING  THE  ICE  35 

These  delicacies  were  duly  administered  by 
himself  and  Saidee  after  the  preferences  had 
been  collected.  Coffee  in  small  cups  followed 
this  course, — and  the  meal  was  ended ! 

"So  this  is  dinner!  Shall  I  ever  adjust  my- 
self to  this?"  Mildred  asked  herself,  as  the 
guests  scattered,  some  into  the  parlor  to  gossip 
and  play  cards;  others,  upstairs  to  get  ready 
for  the  theatre;  and  others,  to  undress  and 
spend  the  rest  of  the  evening  en  deshabille  in 
their  little  cells. 

The  next  few  weeks  Mildred  spent  in  try- 
ing to  get  used  to  her  new  life.  She  decided 
not  to  notify  her  friends  of  her  arrival  in  New 
York.  She  did  not  want  to  be  "looked  up." 
She  had  the  name  of  her  country-place  erased 
from  her  card-plate  and  simply  wrote  her 
address  in  pencil  when  she  pleased  to  give 
it. 

Mildred  veiled  her  feelings  so  entirely  that 
she  was  established  in  her  first  week  at  Mrs. 
Carroll's  as  a  universal  favorite.  Mrs.  Car- 
roll, who  had  taken  Mildred  to  her  heart  upon 
her  arrival,  clasped  her  the  more  tightly  when 
she  learned  that  Miss  Ashton's  grandmother 
was  a  Southerner.  Everybody  in  the  house 
followed  Mrs.  Carroll's  lead.  It  was  a  pleas- 


36      A  DAUGHTER  OF  THE  REVOLUTION 

ure  to  every  one  to  see  Mildred's  fresh,  young 
face,  with  its  cheery  smile,  come  into  the  din- 
ing-room in  the  early  morning,  when  so  many 
were  sitting  around  the  breakfast  table  in 
varying  moods.  Even  Miss  Van  Tassel,  who, 
during  her  residence  here  of  five  years  had 
never  been  known  to  praise  any  one,  paid  Mil- 
dred a  great  compliment.  She  said  "Miss 
Ashton  reminds  me  so  much  of  myself  when  I 
was  her  age."  When  this  reached  Mildred, 
she  did  not  mind  in  the  least.  She  made  a 
point  of  calling  sometimes  after  dinner  in 
Miss  Van  Tassel's  lonely  little  room  to  listen 
to  memories  of  her  long  faded  youth. 

Oscar  and  Saidee  would  do  anything  on 
earth  for  Miss  Ashton  before  she  asked  it, 
when  they  could  anticipate  her  wants.  Even 
the  exclusive  Baltimore  ladies  on  the  first 
floor,  having  encountered  her  one  afternoon 
on  the  stairs,  took  a  fancy  to  Mildred,  and 
actually  bowed.  On  the  next  chance  meeting 
they  gave  her  an  invitation  to  call  upon  them. 
This  unusual  circumstance,  circulated  through 
the  medium  of  Miss  Van  Tassel,  supplied  the 
whole  house  with  a  topic  of  conversation  for 
a  month. 

Everybody  was  drawn  to  Mildred  Ashton; 


BREAKING  THE  ICE  37 

and  the  strange  part  of  it  was  that  she  made 
no  effort  to  bring  it  about. 

She  was  sweet-tempered  and  vivacious ;  she 
was  quick  to  observe  and  quick  to  feel;  and, 
although  she  was  excessively  fastidious,  she 
kept  her  criticisms  to  herself.  What  was  the 
reason  that  everybody  Ipved  her? 

Was  it  because  she  was  honest  with  herself 
and  with  all  the  world?  Was  it  because  she 
was  kind-hearted  and  never  gave  pain  to  any 
one,  nor  to  anything?  Was  it  because  she  was 
young  and  pretty?  Or,  was  it  because  she  un- 
consciously possessed  something  like  "the  Nel- 
son touch"  that  characterized  England's  mag- 
netic admiral,  who  charmed  every  one  that 
came  into  his  presence. 

Yes;  Mildred  Ashton  was  a  luminous  per- 
son, shining  by  her  own  inward  light;  and  she 
cast  radiance  around  her  wherever  she  ap- 
peared. 

During  the  entire  period  of  her  stay  at 
Mrs.  Carroll's  Mildred  Ashton  never  men- 
tioned her  home,  her  possessions,  her  family, 
or  her  friends.  Regarding  her  own  changed 
conditions,  she  was  naturally  reticent. 

Though  intensely  unhappy,  she  never  ap- 
peared without  a  smile;  and  she  never  failed 


38      A  DAUGHTER  OF  THE  REVOLUTION 

to  respond  with  a  cordial  manner  to  any  one 
who  addressed  her  in  the  same  spirit.  She 
had  evidently  taken  the  advice  of  the  Sun-dial 
at  Wild  Acres  to  heart. 

There  was  only  one  person  in  the  house  that 
Mildred  cordially  disliked;  and  that  person 
was  her  right  hand  neighbor  at  the  table, 
Bernard  Fogg.  If  Mildred  had  been  older 
and  wiser,  she  would  have  simply  ignored  him. 
Mildred,  however,  could  not  tolerate  Fogg's 
aggressive  attitude  towards  America  and 
Americans,  and  his  sneering  remarks.  Exas- 
perated to  the  breaking-point  one  evening  after 
he  had  been  slurring  at  New  York  throughout 
the  entire  dinner,  Mildred  told  him,  in  a  very 
contemptuous  and  haughty  tone,  that  "as  he 
was  a  guest  in  this  country,  it  would  be  better 
taste  if  he  would  reserve  his  criticisms  until 
he  returned  to  his  own  superior  land." 

To  this  Fogg  replied,  talking  on  the  edge  of 
his  lips,  "It's  not  a  metter  of  teeste;  it's  a  met- 
ter  of  fict,"  and  acted  for  the  rest  of  the  meal 
as  if  he  were  the  Lord  Chancellor  of  England 
sitting  on  the  Woolsack. 

Those  who  overheard  this  reproof  were 
perfectly  delighted  with  Mildred.  The 
others,  who  were  informed  by  Miss  Van  Tas- 


BREAKING  THE  ICE  39 

sel  immediately  after  dinner,  kept  their  ears 
and  eyes  thereafter  upon  Mildred,  so  that  they 
might  not  miss  an  opportunity  of  hearing  and 
seeing  a  reduction  of  the  much-disliked  Fogg. 

Fogg  had  been  holding  forth  at  his  end  of 
the  table  every  evening  ever  since  his  advent 
there  a  year  ago ;  and,  as\no  one  had  questioned 
his  ex  cathedra  remarks,  he  was  in  full  com* 
mand. 

Mildred  could  not  stand  him;  and,  conse- 
quently, she  defended  her  country  and  her 
countrymen  to  the  best  of  her  ability  from  the 
almost  continuous  attacks  and  criticisms  of 
this  pitiful  product  of  the  Anglo-Saxon  race, 
who  had  come  here  for  the  very  purpose  of 
bettering  his  condition. 

Fogg  had  arrived  in  New  York  with  the  in- 
tention (he  was  too  cocksure  to  hope)  of  set- 
ting the  Hudson  on  fire  with  his  bass  voice  and 
singing  of  songs.  So  far,  Fogg's  talents  had 
been  wasted  on  unappreciative  New  York. 
He  had  a  good  voice ;  but  he  had  no  style  and 
no  musical  culture.  When  he  first  talked  to 
Mildred,  she,  disposed  to  take  him  at  his  own 
valuation,  gathered  from  his  colossal  opinion 
of  himself  that  he  was  a  second  Plunkett 
Greene,  and  said,  encouragingly:  "Why,  yes, 


40      A  DAUGHTER  OF  THE  REVOLUTION 

Mr.  Fogg,  you  ought  to  make  a  success  with 
your  English  and  Irish  ballads;  I  want  to  hear 
you  sing."  As  he  continued  the  conversation, 
she  was  not  surprised  that  he  had  failed  to 
impress  the  managers  upon  whom  he  had 
called ;  for  his  portfolio  of  selections  consisted 
chiefly  of  songs  by  Sterndale  Bennett  and 
Maude  Valerie  White,  while  Sullivan's  Lost 
Chord  was  the  one  he  always  selected  to  sing 
in  hopes  of  securing  an  engagement.  Fogg, 
blaming  New  York  for  lack  of  appreciation, 
turned  to  his  other  gift, — that  of  working  a 
typewriter;  and,  being  fortunate  enough  to 
drop  into  the  Cunard  office  one  day  when 
they  were  short  of  a  typist,  he  persuaded  the 
friend  upon  whom  he  was  calling  to  put  him 
in  the  vacant  place.  When  the  absent  clerk 
returned,  he  found  his  position  filled ;  for  Fogg 
had  no  idea  of  giving  up  anything  when  he 
once  got  hold  of  it.  Consequently,  it  was 
from  a  weekly  envelope  marked  "Cunard" 
that  Fogg  drew  the  few  dollars  out  of  whicH 
he  paid  Mrs.  Carroll  her  share  every  Saturday 
evening  at  half-past  five  on  the  stroke  of  the 
clock. 

Meanwhile,  the  voice  did  not  suffer.     The 
boarders  did.    Through  the  influence  of  an 


BREAKING  THE  ICE  41 

English  organist,  whom  he  had  known  at 
home,  Fogg  had  rented  a  cheap  upright  piano 
(he  called  it  a  "cottage  piano"),  which  had  ef- 
fected its  entrance  into  the  window  of  Mrs. 
Carroll's  third  floor  hall-bedroom  by  means 
of  an  intricate  arrangment  of  pullies,  block 
and  tackle  and  several  layers  of  india  rubber 
and  woollen  coverings  for  protection  against 
many  bumpings  upon  Mrs.  Carroll's  brown 
stone  front.  Its  upward  progress  had  been 
witnessed  by  all  the  neighbors  and  a  pavement 
concourse  of  tenement  children  and  loafers, 
who  utterly  ignored  the  big  white  word  "Dan- 
ger" conspicuously  displayed  during  the  as- 
cent on  a  red  block  near  the  house.  For  half 
an  hour,  at  least,  the  fascinated  crowd  had 
gazed  upward  to  watch  the  bandaged  instru- 
ment defiantly  twirling  in  the  air  and  obsti- 
nately dodging  the  window  at  the  very  mo- 
ment the  coaxing  piano-movers  thought  they 
had  it. 

For  Fogg,  who  had  obtained  permission  to 
leave  the  office  early  so  that  he  might  super- 
intend the  moving,  it  was  a  new  and  thrilling 
spectacle.  Was  it  not  his  piano? 

The  piano  had  been  a  great  pleasure  to 
Fogg.  Seated  before  it,  he  warbled — if  a  bass 


42      A  DAUGHTER  OF  THE  REVOLUTION 

voice  can  be  said  to  warble — every  evening  to 
his  own  accompaniments,  which,  at  times  he 
suddenly  checked,  in  order  to  listen  the  better 
to  the  beauty  of  his  vocalizations  and  his 
"great  Ah-men !" 

The  admiration  that  Mr.  Charles  J.  Will- 
iams felt  for  Mildred  when  he  first  saw  her, 
passed  all  bounds  on  the  day  he  heard  her 
give  her  first  slash  at  the  conceited  Britisher. 
Bernard  F.  was  something  so  new  to  Will- 
iams that  the  latter  hardly  knew  how  to  take 
him;  and  so,  Williams  had,  like  the  other 
boarders,  permitted  the  aggressive  Fogg  "to 
take  the  place."  Therefore,  when  Mildred 
began  to  reduce  the  swelling  batrachian  to 
something  like  normal  proportions,  Williams 
sat  by  speechless  with  awe,  wonder  and  de- 
light. 

Fogg  was  as  dense  as  his  name.  He  could 
not  see  a  joke ;  his  mind  knew  no  such  thing  as 
play.  Never  did  a  ripple  of  expression  pass 
across  his  stolid  features;  never  did  a  gleam 
issue  from  his  round  eyes  that  looked  blankly 
out  of  heavily  framed  English  eyeglasses  held 
together  by  a  great  cross  bar,  which  reminded 
Mildred  of  the  handle  bar  of  a  bicycle. 

On  one  occasion  when  he  had  been  deliver- 


BREAKING  THE  ICE  43 

ing  a  highly  sententious  lecture  in  regard  to 
the  position  of  the  American  Woman,  viz. 
"that  she  had  far  too  much  liberty;  that  she 
dressed  too  well;  that  she  had  too  much  to 
say;  and  that  she  was  too  pampered  in  early 
youth  by  her  parents,"  Jie  turned  to  Mildred, 
saying  impertinently,  "Now  you,  Miss  Ash- 
ton,  for  example.  You  ought  to  have  had 
more  discipleen."  At  this  moment  the  great 
moralist  was  about  to  lift  his  salt-cellar.  Mil- 
dred quickly  handed  him  hers,  saying:  "You 
had  better  take  my  Attic  salt!  You  need  it!" 

The  puzzled  Fogg,  looking  at  both  salt- 
cellars, observed,  "Really  now  I  don't  see  any 
difference  between  them.  What  is  it?" 

Charlie  Williams  snickered.  Mildred  said 
nothing  more;  nor  did  she  even  smile. 

Three  weeks  had  now  gone;  and  Mildred 
had  accomplished  nothing  but  the  adjustment 
of  herself  to  the  conditions  at  Mrs.  Carroll's. 
She  had,  however,  read  the  weekly  papers  and 
the  magazines  to  gain  an  idea  of  the  subjects 
in  which  people  were  interested ;  attended  sev- 
eral concerts;  and  visited  a  few  picture-galler- 
ies and  studios.  She  had  kept  a  diary,  jotting 
down  suggestions  for  topics  that  might  be  of 
practical  use.  Moreover,  she  had  tried  to 


44      A  DAUGHTER  OF  THE  REVOLUTION 

write  a  little  every  day,  hoping  by  this  means 
to  get  into  practice. 

Three  weeks  had  now  gone.  The  ice  had 
been  broken.  The  next  thing  to  do  was  to 
plunge  into  professional  life. 


CHAPTER  V 

A  BALTIMORE  SUPPER 

y 

ONE  day,  a  few  weeks  after  Mildred  had 
called  upon  the  two  Miss  Swanns  (they 
preferred  this  form  of  address  rather  than 
that  of  the  Misses  Swann),  she  was  sitting  in 
her  little  room  repairing  a  velveteen  skirt  and 
thinking  what  a  good  thing  it  was  for  a  woman 
to  be  efficient  with  her  needle,  when  there  was 
a  knock  at  the  door.  When  Mildred  went  to 
open  it,  she  found  the  two  Miss  Swanns's  col- 
ored maid,  Cora,  who  said  with  a  smile,  show- 
ing all  her  large  and  even  white  teeth,  "Miss 
Swann  sent  you  this,  and  said  I  was  to  wait 
for  an  answer,  pleasum." 

The  little  note  proved  to  be  an  invitation 
for  Mildred  to  take  supper  with  the  two  Miss 
Swanns  on  the  following  evening,  if  she  had 
no  other  engagement.  Mildred  wrote  a  grate- 
ful acceptance  and  Cora,  still  smiling,  went 
downstairs  with  it. 

It  was  remarkable  to  see  how  much  old 

45 


46      A  DAUGHTER  OF  THE  REVOLUTION 

Maryland  atmosphere  these  two  Baltimore 
ladies  had  managed  to  bring  into  the  sec- 
ond floor  of  Mrs.  Carroll's  boarding-house. 
Their  suite,  spreading  over  the  entire  floor, 
consisted  of  a  drawing-room,  two  bedrooms,  a 
bath-room  and  a  small  hall-room  for  Cora, 
whom  they  had  brought  from  Baltimore. 
Cora  attended  to  the  rooms  and  waited  on  the 
two  ladies,  being  so  well-trained  that  she  an- 
ticipated all  their  wants  and  needs.  She  prac- 
tically received  no  orders,  except  for  an  oc- 
casional errand. 

The  two  Miss  Swanns  had  brought  their 
furniture  from  Baltimore  and  the  three  fairly- 
sized  rooms  looked  rather  crowded  with  the 
handsome  mahogany  pieces.  A  big  sofa,  with 
a  high  square  back,  stood  at  right  angles  to  the 
open  fire  that  blazed  upon  heavy,  brass  and- 
irons with  large  balls.  These,  with  the  per- 
forated fender,  Cora  was  required  to  keep  in 
a  state  of  brilliant  polish.  A  large  and  hand- 
some rug  nearly  covered  the  dark  blue  felt 
carpet.  Old-fashioned  blue  damask  curtains, 
of  a  large  floral  pattern,  hung  at  the  two  win- 
dows from  heavy  gilt  cornices;  and  these  cur- 
tains were  looped  back  with  thick  ropes  of 
blue  silk  ending  in  heavy  blue  tassels,  showing 


A  BALTIMORE  SUPPER  47 

the  thin,  white  embroidered  curtains  beneath. 
A  long,  narrow  Sheraton  mirror,  in  three  sec- 
tions, the  gilt  frame  having  delicate  pilasters 
at  the  sides,  ornamented  the  mantel-piece,  on 
which  stood  a  French  clock  of  gilt  bronze, 
representing  Minerva,  gracefully  seated,  her 
right  arm  resting  on  her  shield  in  which  the 
dial  was  placed.  On  either  side  were  two 
handsome  Chinese  vases.  Between  the  win- 
dows stood  a  gilded  console  table  and  from  its 
white  marble  slab  a  long,  narrow  mirror,  in 
a  wide  gilt  frame,  reached  to  the  ceiling.  On 
this  slab  was  a  tall,  brass  lamp  with  a  bell- 
shaped  ground  glass  globe,  decorated  with  a 
floral  pattern,  below  which  dangled  a  fringe 
of  crystal  girandoles.  Near  it  was  a  large 
and  rare  Chinese-Lowestoft  bowl  full  of  visit- 
ing-cards and  invitations.  A  low,  squat  brass- 
lamp  with  its  shade  of  blue  silk,  stood  on  the 
large  round  table  in  the  centre  of  the  room. 
The  sofa  and  chairs  were  covered  with  blue 
damask,  like  the  curtains,  and  two  chairs,  with 
open  and  carved  backs,  great  spreading  legs 
and  ball-and-claw  feet,  had  seats  of  Turkey- 
work.  A  low,  round  table  at  the  side  of  the 
sofa  supported  an  immense  silver  salver,  with 
its  massive  silver  tea-service.  This,  another 


48   A  DAUGHTER  OF  THE  REVOLUTION 

of  Cora's  cares,  shone  as  brilliantly  as  it  was 
possible  to  make  silver  shine;  and,  conse- 
quently, it  vied  with  the  andirons  in  catching 
and  reflecting  the  light  from  the  fire.  There 
was  a  bookcase  full  of  books;  and  there  were 
two  cabinets  containing  china,  glass  and  sil- 
ver. Several  family  portraits  looked  down 
upon  these  familiar  objects  in  an  unfamiliar 
place. 

The  whole  room  not  only  breathed  a  de- 
lightful air  of  refinement,  but  it  was  "old- 
fashioned"  and  charmingly  home-like.  It 
gave  a  faint  suggestion  of  the  home  in  which 
these  typical  Baltimore  ladies  had  passed 
their  lives.  To  Miss  Hatty  and  Miss  Jessie, 
as  they  were  familiarly  called  by  their  Balti- 
more friends,  it  was  a  very  feeble  reminder  of 
their  beloved  Belvedere,  upon  which  Balti- 
more had  gradually  encroached  until  the  old 
white  mansion,  with  its  columned  portico  and 
colonnades,  had  to  be  pulled  down  to  make 
room  for  Swann  Street,  which  had  determined 
to  go  right  through  the  old  Swann  property. 
This,  happening  about  the  time  that  Mrs. 
Carroll  lost  her  husband  and  decided  to  open 
a  boarding-house  in  New  York,  the  two  Miss 
Swanns  Cwho  were  relatives  of  the  late  Mr. 


A  BALTIMORE  SUPPER  49 

Carroll)  decided  to  leave  "Balt'mer,"  with  its 
sad  memories  and  to  take  a  floor  with  her. 
The  thought  of  helping  Mrs.  Carroll  also  ac- 
tuated their  kind  hearts,  as  well  as  the  thought 
of  personal  convenience;  and  Mrs.  Carroll 
felt  deeply  grateful  for  their  support  and 
their  presence.  So,  altogether,  it  was  a  mu- 
tually pleasant  and  profitable  arrangement. 

Every  summer,  after  wrapping,  with  the 
aid  of  Cora,  the  furniture,  pictures,  brass  and 
china  in  linen  and  brown  paper  and  sending 
their  silver  to  the  safe  deposit,  these  ladies 
left  the  darkened  room,  with  its  heavy  odor 
of  camphor,  and  departed,  with  Cora,  for  a 
series  of  visits  in  Maryland.  The  late  sum- 
mer they  spent  travelling,  and  the  first  of  Oc- 
tober saw  them  back  in  the  spot  they  now 
called  home.  They  lived,  however,  in  com- 
plete isolation  from  the  other  boarders. 

When  Mildred  entered  on  the  eventful 
evening  the  table  was  set  for  supper;  and  very 
pretty  it  looked,  with  the  shining  mahogany 
board,  which  had  been  waxed  and  oiled  and 
rubbed  by  Cora  until  it  shone  like  a  mirror. 
It  now  exhibited  a  handsome  lace  centre- 
piece, lace  mats,  little  embroidered  tea-nap- 
kins, a  pot  of  blooming  cyclamen  in  the  centre 


50   A  DAUGHTER  OF  THE  REVOLUTION 

and  two  silver  candelabra  with  yellow  shades. 
The  large  silver  tea-service  denoted  Miss 
Hatty's  place. 

Mildred  gave  an  admiring  glance  at  the 
rich  cut-glass  tumblers,  the  heavy  silver  forks 
and  spoons,  the  sharp  and  shining  ivory- 
handled  steel  knives,  and  the  Spode  china 
with  the  wide  gilt  bands  and  decorative  pink 
roses.  She  thought  of  Wild  Acres. 

She  could  not  resist  the  temptation  to  speak 
of  her  own  home  in  this  sympathetic  atmos- 
phere. 

"This  looks  so  much  like  my  own  home!" 
she  exclaimed  as  she  took  her  seat. 

Miss  Jessie,  astonished,  raised  her  eye- 
brows, "Where  is  your  home,  Miss  Ash- 
ton?" 

"On  Long  Island,"  replied  Mildred,  "not 
very  far  away — Port  Washington." 

"I  don't  know  where  that  is,"  said  Miss 
Hatty;  "is  it  anywhere  near  Oyster  Bay,  or 
Roslyn?  We  have  cousins  in  both  those 
places." 

Mildred  now  had  to  give  all  the  informa- 
tion she  pleased  about  Port  Washington  and 
Wild  Acres.  The  two  Miss  Swanns,  amazed 
to  learn  that  their  guest  belonged  to  the 


A  BALTIMORE  SUPPER  51 

"landed  gentry,"  were  aching  to  know  more. 
Who  was  this  Miss  Ash  ton,  anyway? 

At  this  moment  Cora  entered,  bringing  a 
large  tray  with  covered  dishes. 

"We  are  going  to  give  you  a  real  Mary- 
land supper,"  said  Miss  Hatty,  as  Cora  placed 
a  large  silver  platter  ofx  fried  chicken  in  front 
of  Miss  Jessie.  "We  talked  over  several 
things  and  we  finally  decided  upon  fried 
chicken." 

"It  looks  delicious,"  said  Mildred,  eyeing 
the  golden-brown  chicken  surrounded  with  a 
rim  of  squares  of  fried  mush,  also  of  a  golden- 
brown  color,  and  sprigs  of  parsley  at  intervals. 

Mildred  had  never  tasted  such  chicken,  and 
said  so. 

"No,"  answered  Miss  Hatty,  "I  suppose 
not.  I  have  eaten  fried  chicken  in  many 
places  in  New  York;  but  not  even  in  private 
homes  do  you  get  what  we  Maryland  people 
consider  fried  chicken.  We  insist  on  having 
very  young  chickens  and  freshly  killed  chick- 
ens and  we  put  them  in  cold  water  for  a  little 
while  to  draw  the  blood  out  and  make  them 
white.  Oh,  I  should  say  that  the  chickens  are 
properly  carved  and  not  hacked  with  an 
hatchet.  Then  we  wipe  the  pieces  very  dry 


52      A  DAUGHTER  OF  THE  REVOLUTION 

on  a  clean  cloth  and  have  the  frying  lard  very 
hot.  That  is  all!  Then  the  mush — oh,  do 
give  Miss  Ashton  another  piece  of  mush, 
Jessie;  these  squares  are  so  small  to-night. 
The  mush  is  another  feature.  That  is  also 
specially  prepared,  Miss  Ashton.  I'm  so  glad 
you  like  it.  Then  the  cream  sauce  with 
plenty  of  parsley,  the  sauce  not  too  thick,  is 
still  another  secret  that  they  haven't  learned 
in  this  part  of  the  world.  Yes,"  continued 
Miss  Hatty,  cutting  a  piece  off  the  wing  on 
her  plate  and  tasting  it,  "this  is  just  right  to- 
night. Don't  you  think  so,  Jessie?" 

Miss  Jessie  agreed.  It  now  became  her 
turn  to  say  as  Cora  handed  to  Mildred  a  cut- 
glass  dish  containing  half  a  stuffed  mango. 
"Miss  Ashton,  do  try  some  of  that  mango ;  it's 
made  from  an  old  family  recipe  that  we  gave 
to  one  of  our  cousins,  who  makes  it  for  us  now 
— an  old  recipe  of  the  Calverts,  or  the  Talbots 
— I  don't  remember  which.  Which  was  it, 
Hatty,  the  Calverts,  or  the  Talbots?" 

"The  Talbots,  I  believe,"  corrected  Miss 
Hatty. 

"Well,  I  never  know  which  it  is,"  said  Miss 
Jessie,  "I  know  we  have  both  Calvert  and  Tal- 
bot  recipes  and  I  always  get  them  confused. 


A  BALTIMORE  SUPPER  53 

We  are  related  to  both  families,  Miss  Ash- 
ton." 

Mildred  also  found  the  mango  perfection, 
and  said  so. 

"Will  you  have  your  tea  now,  or  later?" 
asked  Miss  Hatty,  who  had,  meanwhile,  made 
the  tea. 

Mildred  preferred  it  now;  and  Miss  Hatty, 
having  ascertained  whether  Mildred  wanted 
cream,  or  lemon,  or  nothing,  and  the  number 
of  lumps  of  sugar,  next  directed  her  attention 
to  the  beaten  biscuit. 

"Those  are  real  Maryland  biscuit,  Miss 
Ashton.  Those  were  made  especially  for  you. 
We  don't  often  have  them  now:  they  are 
so  difficult  to  make.  You  rarely  see  the 
real  Maryland  biscuit  now,  even  in  the  old 
homes." 

Mildred  thought  these  delicious.  The  but- 
ter caused  her  to  ask,  "Where  did  this  wonder- 
ful butter  come  from?" 

"We  have  that  sent  to  us  regularly  from 
Philadelphia,"  replied  Miss  Jessie.  "We  get 
it  from  the  grandson  of  a  Delaware  man,  who 
supplied  my  grandfather's  table  with  butter 
for  years  and  years." 

"Cora,  you  haven't  handed  Miss  Ashton  the 


54   A  DAUGHTER  OF  THE  REVOLUTION 

tomatoes,"  said  Miss  Hatty,  reprovingly  to  the 
bronze  statue,  who  had  become  so  interested 
in  watching  the  effect  the  Maryland  delica- 
cies had  upon  the  Northern  guest,  evidently 
fearing  that  the  reputation  of  her  native  state 
was  at  stake,  that  she  was  perfectly  oblivious 
to  her  duties.  Thoroughly  ashamed  of  her 
negligence,  when  called  back  to  life,  Cora 
quickly  caught  up  the  cut-glass  dish  contain- 
ing large  cart-wheels  of  coral-pink  tomatoes, 
each  decorated  in  the  centre  with  a  spoonful 
of  thick,  golden  mayonnaise  and  handed  it  to 
Mildred,  who,  taking  a  slice,  pronounced  it 
delicious. 

Cora,  removing  the  remains  of  this  course, 
brought  in  a  dish  of  Spanish  cream  and  a 
large  perforated  silver  cake  basket  containing 
small  sponge  cakes,  iced  with  white. 

"I  never  could  have  imagined  such  food 
coming  out  of  Mrs.  Carroll's  kitchen," 
thought  Mildred.  "It  isn't  much  like  our 
table  d'hote  downstairs!  It  seems  incred- 
ible." And  then  there  came  over  her  an  aw- 
ful feeling:  she  suspected  who  had  cooked 
that  delicious  supper.  The  dainty  and  fin- 
ished cooking  and  the  delicious  flavor  that 
everything  had  could  only  be  obtained  through 


A  BALTIMORE  SUPPER  55 

the  work  of  either  a  lady,  or  a  cordon  bleu; 
and  the  greatest  stretch  of  Mildred's  imagina- 
tion could  never  bestow  the  title  of  chef  upon 
Saidee. 

This  thought  spoiled  Mildred's  enjoyment 
of  her  supper.  She  could  not  bear  to  think  of 
Mrs.  Carroll  standing  aver  the  hot  stove  pre- 
paring these  dainties.  It  was  characteristic 
of  Mildred  Ashton  that  she  never  liked  to  en- 
joy anything  at  any  one  else's  expense. 

Still,  as  a  guest,  she  had  to  be  outwardly 
oblivious  to  the  methods  by  which  such  cu- 
linary perfection  had  been  obtained. 

"This  sponge  cake  is  just  like  the  kind  we 
always  have  at  my  home,"  said  Mildred,  who 
noting  a  half  incredulous  look  on  Miss  Hatty's 
face,  added,  "I've  made  it  very  often.  You 
take  the  weight  of  the  eggs  in  sugar  and  half 
the  weight  in  flour;  you  beat  the  yolks  up  very 
lightly  with  the  sugar  and  you  beat  the  whites 
separately  to  a  stiff  froth;  you  add  the  whites 
to  the  yolks ;  then  you  add  your  flavoring;  and 
then,  after  having  sifted  your  flour  two  or 
three  times,  you  stir  that  in ;  and  then  you  bake 
it  in  a  quick  oven.  Isn't  that  right,  Miss 
Swann?" 

"It  certainly  is,"  replied  Miss  Hatty,  "but 


56      A  DAUGHTER  OF  THE  REVOLUTION 

that  is  an  old  Southern  recipe.  How  did  you 
get  it?" 

"Why,  my  grandmother  was  a  Virginian," 
said  Mildred. 

Imagine  the  effect  of  this  unexpected  an- 
nouncement upon  the  two  Miss  Swanns! 
They  had  indeed  been  entertaining  an  angel 
unawares!  Their  surprise,  delight  and  exal- 
tation knew  no  bounds. 

"Who  was  your  grandmother?"  asked  Miss 
Hatty,  most  interestedly. 

"My  grandmother,"  replied  Mildred  very 
quietly,  "was  a  Lee." 

"Really!"  exclaimed  the  excited  Miss 
Hatty. 

"Why,  of  course,"  Miss  Jessie  spoke  up 
quickly,  as  if  she  had  known  it  all  the  time, 
"Of  course,  that's  where  she  gets  her  name 
of  Mildred.  Mildred  Lee!  Don't  you  see?" 

"Why,  then  if  you  are  a  Lee,  you  are  related 
to  all  the  Colonial  families  in  Virginia  and 
some  in  Maryland.  Isn't  this  interesting,  Jes- 
sie? Isn't  this  most  interesting?" 

"It  certainly  is,"  answered  Miss  Jessie. 
"Now  we  know  where  to  place  you." 

"Oh,"  replied  Mildred,  "I'm  very  proud  of 
my  Northern  blood.  The  Ashtons  are  just  as 


A  BALTIMORE  SUPPER  57 

old  a  family  as  the  Lees;  and  we  are  related  to 
many  of  the  old  New  York  families.  More- 
over, the  Ashtons  took  a  very  active  part  in 
the  Revolution  and  in  the  Civil  War.  You 
must  remember  that  I  am  a  Yankee  girl,  too. 
I  am  both  a  Blue  and  a  Gray." 

"Are  you  a  Daughter  of  the  American  Rev- 
olution?" asked  Miss  Hatty. 

"No,"  replied  Mildred,  "nor  a  Colonial 
Dame  either,  though  I  have  been  asked  to  join 
both  societies." 

"Well,  you  ought  to  join  both,"  said  Miss 
Jessie.  "I  think  we,  Americans,  ought  to  do 
everything  we  can  to  preserve  our  true  old 
American  spirit,  the  spirit  of  '76.  There  are 
so  many  races  here  now  and  so  many  commu- 
nities and  societies  and  religions,  so  many  be- 
liefs, traditions  and  ambitions,  and  so  many 
different  codes  of  ethics,  that  I  think  every 
true  American  man  and  woman  should  unite 
in  the  endeavor  to  preserve  our  race  and  our 
ideals.  These  patriotic  societies  do  much  in 
this  way.  My  sister  and  I  usually  attend  the 
annual  meetings  of  the  Daughters  of  the 
American  Revolution  in  Washington.  I  wish 
you  would  go  with  us  sometime,  Miss  Ash- 
ton." 


58      A  DAUGHTER  OF  THE  REVOLUTION 

"Perhaps  I  will,"  answered  Mildred. 
"Perhaps,  I  can  write  it  up." 

"We  want  you  to  go  as  our  guest,"  Miss 
Hatty  exclaimed,  "from  the  moment  you  leave 
this  house  till  you  get  back  again;  but  there 
is  no  reason  why  you  shouldn't  write  it  up, 
if  you  want  to  when  the  time  comes." 

By  this  time  Cora  had  removed  all  traces  of 
supper  and  placed  the  lamp  with  the  blue 
shade  on  the  table  with  the  books  and  maga- 
zines. No  one  would  now  have  imagined  that 
a  meal  had  been  served  here. 

Mildred  tried  to  think  which  of  the  two 
Baltimore  ladies  she  liked  the  better.  First, 
she  looked  at  Miss  Hatty,  a  woman  of  about 
sixty-five,  tall  and  slender,  with  fine  figure 
and  erect  carriage,  sitting  so  well  in  her  arm- 
chair, her  hands  loosely  clasped  on  her  lap 
and  her  small  foot  in  its  gray  satin  and  beaded 
slipper  resting  on  the  footstool.  Mildred  ad- 
mired her  finely-shaped  head,  with  its  wealth 
of  dark  auburn  hair,  slightly  gray,  parted  in 
the  middle,  waving  at  the  sides  and  gathered 
into  a  low  coil  at  the  neck, — an  arrangement 
which  brought  out  her  calm  and  noble  pro- 
file. Her  dress  was  a  soft  gray  crepe  de  chine 
brightened  with  a  corsage  bouquet  of  scarlet 


A  BALTIMORE  SUPPER  59 

carnations.  Her  face,  though  not  exactly 
handsome,  was  distinguished  and  proud;  and 
Mildred  thought  her  expression  very  sweet. 
Then  she  looked  at  Miss  Jessie,  who  was  sev- 
eral years  younger  than  her  sister.  Miss  Jes- 
sie was  more  animated  than  Miss  Hatty.  She 
was  very  small,  very  slight,  very  light  of  step 
— bird-like,  in  fact, — quick  in  her  actions  and 
very  twittery  in  her  talk.  Her  abundant 
light  hair  was  worn  high  and  rolled  from  her 
forehead,  making  her  look  taller  than  she 
was;  and  she  had  that  fine  high-bred  line  of 
neck  that  gives  a  peculiarly  erect  carriage  to 
the  head.  Miss  Jessie  bore  the  traces  of  hav- 
ing been  an  unusually  pretty  woman  and  the 
coquettish  little  ways  that  still  clung  to  her 
gave  evidence  that  Miss  Jessie  Swann  had 
been  a  belle — a  real  Baltimore  belle!  She 
wore  her  clothes  beautifully;  and,  if  there  was 
any  quality  that  was  most  conspicuous  about 
her,  it  was  her  excessive  daintiness. 

Mildred  observed  her  sitting  in  a  low  chair, 
her  jeweled  fingers  occupied  with  some  light 
needlework,  and  the  firelight  playing  upon 
her  fluffy  heliotrope  dress,  with  a  bunch  of 
violets  at  the  waist;  and  she  began  to  wonder 
what  had  been  her  history.  Miss  Jessie  grew 


60      A  DAUGHTER  OF  THE  REVOLUTION 

upon  Mildred  as  she  studied  her.  She  was  so 
gentle,  so  responsive  and  so  sweetly  feminine 
that  Mildred  thought  Mrs.  Carroll's  a  poor 
setting  for  one  who  could  have  presided  so 
gracefully  and  so  well  over  a  home  of  her 
own. 

"I  have  heard  that  there  is  a  young  English- 
man in  the  house,  a  Mr.  Bernard  Fogg,"  said 
Miss  Hatty.  "Do  you  know  him,  Miss  Ash- 
ton?" 

"Do  I  know  him!"  said  Mildred  contemp- 
tuously. "I  should  think  I  did!  He  sits  next 
to  me  at  the  table." 

"I  like  Englishmen,"  observed  Miss  Jessie, 
who  owned  a  few  scalps  of  this  race,  and 
thought  of  these  trophies  for  the  moment,  a 
little  sentimentally,  "I  like  Englishmen." 

"Well,  you  wouldn't  like  this  one," 
Mildred  exclaimed  quickly.  "You  wouldn't 
know  him." 

"Why,  what's  the  matter  with  him?"  quer- 
ied Miss  Hatty,  amused  at  Mildred's  vehe- 
mence. 

"Everything's  the  matter  with  him,"  re- 
plied Mildred;  "he's  perfectly  horrid!  He's 
so  conceited,  that  I  think  he  will  burst,  and 
he's  so  common!  I  don't  see  how  anybody 


A  BALTIMORE  SUPPER  61 

can  dare  be  so  common  as  he  is.  I  tell  you 
what  he  is — he's  a  combination  of  Malvolio 
and  Mr.  Guppy.  He  is  Shakespeare's  Mal- 
volio for  conceit  and  he's  Dickens'  Guppy  for 
ignorance  and  commonness ;  and  I  don't  know 
how  many  other  of  Dickens'  disagreeable  peo- 
ple he  is  besides.  Dickens  would  certainly 
have  written  him  up,  if  he  had  seen  him." 

"Why  don't  you  write  him  up?"  asked  Miss 
Jessie. 

"/r  laughed  Mildred.  "Oh,  I  wouldn't 
spend  that  much  time  on  him.  What  irritates 
me  most  about  him,"  continued  Mildred,  "is 
that  he  is  always  slurring  America  and  Ameri- 
cans. Nobody  wants  his  opinion.  He  says 
we  are  very  crude,  and  he  says  we  are  not  at 
all  musical.  He's  so  qualified  to  speak!  I 
can  see  very  plainly  by  his  manners  that  he  is 
of  the  middle-middle  class,  if  not  the  lower- 
middle  class;  and  he  has  never  seen  any  de- 
cent life  in  England.  Then,  with  regard  to 
music,  he  has  heard  absolutely  nothing  but 
concerts  at  the  Crystal  Palace!  He  thinks  the 
Crystal  Palace  represents  everything  on  earth. 
He  can't  get  beyond  the  Crystal  Palace. 
Now,  for  example,  the  other  day  I  asked  him 
if  he  had  been  to  the  Flower  Show  and  what 


62      A  DAUGHTER  OF  THE  REVOLUTION 

do  you  think  he  replied?  (Nee-o,'  "  said  Mil- 
dred, mimicking  the  voice,  "  'nee-o,  certinly 
not.  I  have  seen  the  Flower  Shows  at  the 
Crystal  Pillis.  Why  should  I  trouble  to  go 
to  innything  in  New  York?'  But  to  return  to 
the  question  of  music,  the  only  Wagner  opera 
he  ever  heard,  or  heard  of,  is  Lohengrin  and 
the  favorite  songs  in  his  own  repertoire  are 
The  Last  Chord  and  In  the  Gloaming!  We 
aren't  cultivated  in  America!  Ugh!  But  it's 
long  past  the  gloaming  now,"  added  Mildred ; 
"I  must  go.  I've  had  a  most  delightful  even- 
ing." 

"Oh,  wait  a  minute,"  said  Miss  Jessie,  ris- 
ing and  laying  her  needlework  on  the  table, 
"you  must  have  a  glass  of  cherry  brandy  that 
our  Baltimore  cousins  have  just  sent  us" ;  and 
going  to  the  little  cellaret,  Miss  Jessie  brought 
out  a  small  decanter  and  three  liqueur  glasses, 
which  she  rilled. 

"Now,"  said  Miss  Hatty,  "I  think  I  will 
propose  a  toast.  To  a  long  friendship  with 
Miss  Mildred  Ashton." 


CHAPTER  VI 

A  JOURNALISTIC  NOVICE 

MILDRED  realized  that  she  should  not 
go   empty-handed   on   her   expedition 
into  the  newspaper  world.     The  question  was 
what  should  she  write  about? 

Opening  her  Diary,  she  looked  at  her  rc:ord 
for  the  past  week. 

uOh,"  she  exclaimed,  as  she  noticed  an  en- 
try: "Saw  Mr.  La  Farge's  lovely  South  Sea 
Pictures." 

"There,"  she  said,  "that  might  do.  Those 
charming  pictures  are  still  fresh  in  my  mind. 
I'll  write  them  up.  It's  an  unusual  subject." 

The  task  was  not  quite  so  easy  as  she  had 
imagined. 

Mildred  sat  before  her  desk  for  a  long  time 
without  achieving  any  results.  Presently  she 
said  to  herself,  "I  believe  I  will  pretend  I  am 
writing  a  letter  to  some  one  and  trying  to  de- 
scribe these  pictures  so  that  my  friend  can  see 
them  as  I  saw  them." 

63 


64      A  DAUGHTER  OF  THE  REVOLUTION 

This  gave  her  a  start.  Mildred  soon  be- 
came so  absorbed  in  her  subject  that  she 
worked  away  entirely  forgetting  the  dinner- 
hour,  until  Saidee  appeared,  sent  by  Mrs.  Car- 
roll to  inquire  if  Miss  Ashton  were  ill  and 
wanted  anything  served  in  her  room. 

First,  Mildred  paid  a  short  tribute  to  the 
genius  of  Mr.  La  Farge.  Then  she  passed  on 
to  his  studies  of  groves  of  breadfruit  and  co- 
coanut  trees;  studies  of  tall,  waving  palms 
with  their  slender  and  fantastically  twisted 
trunks ;  studies  of  the  grass  huts  thatched  with 
pandanus  leaves,  around  which  natives  were 
sitting  draped  in  their  bright  tapa  cloths  and 
wearing  garlands  of  bright  flowers  upon  their 
heads  and  bare  breasts;  studies  of  dense  forests 
and  jungles;  glimpses  of  green  and  distant 
coral  reefs  over  a  tossing  sea  of  sapphire; 
great  black  basalt  tors  rising  out  of  perpendic- 
ular purple  islands  touched  with  the  rich  light 
of  a  tropical  dawn;  studies  of  active  volcanoes 
down  whose  flanks  rushed  streams  of  glowing 
lava;  studies  of  gentle  islets  dreaming  in  the 
moonlight;  notes  of  pools  and  dim  grottoes 
seen  through  gnarled  branches  and  trailing 
vines;  and  studies  of  the  beach  and  sea  at  all 
hours  of  the  day  and  night  and  under  all  at- 


A  JOURNALISTIC  NOVICE  65 

mospheric  conditions.  She  also  dwelt  upon 
the  representation  of  the  natives — the  Mar- 
quesas— strolling  through  the  groves  of  mi- 
mosa, coco-palm  and  acacia,  with  their  pecul- 
iar graceful  and  languid  glide,  or  bathing,  or 
carrying  canoes,  or  taking  the  waves  in  their 
native  boats,  or  sitting  'motionless  and  impas- 
sive as  sphinxes  before  their  huts.  Then  she 
mentioned  particularly  a  himene,  where  a 
group  of  natives  were  sitting  in  a  circle  on 
the  greensward,  singing  their  native  hymns, 
while  the  moon,  slipping  through  dark,  gro- 
tesque clouds,  touched  the  deep,  blue  waves 
here  and  there  with  silvery  light  as  they  broke 
upon  the  distant  beach. 

The  next  day,  Mildred  copied  her  little  es- 
say as  legibly  and  as  neatly  as  she  could,  know- 
ing by  instinct  that  a  manuscript  has  a  better 
chance  if  it  is  attractively  presented.  Then 
she  dressed  herself  in  a  simple  tailor  suit  of 
black  broadcloth,  placed  her  little  black  vel- 
vet toque  at  the  correct  angle,  and  pinned  a 
black  dotted  veil  around  it,  threw  her  black 
fur  boa  around  her  neck,  drew  on  her  thick, 
white  gloves  with  heavy  black  stitching  and 
picked  up  her  black  muff.  Her  only  touch  of 
color  was  a  stiff  scarlet  wing  in  her  hat. 


The  small  silver  net  coin-purse  that  she 
carried  in  her  muff  held  her  last  fifty 
cents. 

"I  feel  like  a  knight-errant  starting  forth 
on  adventures  with  an  unblazoned  shield," 
she  thought  as  she  closed  Mrs.  Carroll's  door 
behind  her. 

Reaching  the  busy  newspaper  district,  Mil- 
dred walked  down  Nassau  Street  and  Park 
Row,  wondering  which  of  the  offices  she 
would  select  for  her  first  call. 

She  looked  at  the  list  of  papers  that  she  had 
made  with  the  names  of  their  respective  edi- 
tors. Although  she  scanned  it  again  and 
again,  it  told  her  nothing  of  the  personality  of 
these  men,  nor  what  kind  of  a  reception  she 
was  likely  to  meet  with. 

"I'll  try  the  New  York  Comet/'  she  finally 
decided,  "and  Mr.  Crowfoot  Crane,  princi- 
pally because  it  publishes  one  of  the  larg- 
est Sunday  supplements.  They  must  need  a 
great  deal  of  material  to  keep  it  going." 

On  entering  the  office  of  the  New  York 
Comet,  her  way  was  blocked  by  a  balustrade 
with  a  swinging  gate  in  the  centre,  guarded 
by  a  one-headed  Cerberus,  who  held  out  a 
pad  of  little  slips,  printed  with 


A  JOURNALISTIC  NOVICE  67 

"Whom  do  you  want  to  see?  State  busi- 
ness." 

A  convenient  pencil  dangled  from  the  pad, 
by  a  string. 

To  the  first  question  Mildred  wrote:  "Mr. 
Crowfoot  Crane,"  and  to  the  second  "Contri- 
butions." 

"I  wonder  how  I  thought  of  that  word,"  she 
said  to  herself,  quite  pleased  with  its  business- 
like sound. 

The  boy  tore  off  the  slip  and  disappeared. 
In  a  few  moments  he  returned  with  "This 
way."  He  conducted  her  to  an  elevator  al- 
ready jammed  with  people.  It  was  just  about 
to  ascend,  but  waited  to  take  on  the  proverbial 
one  more;  and  the  one  more  this  time  hap- 
pened to  be  Mildred.  Cerberus  called  back 
to  her,  "Sixteenth  floor,  Room  one  six  four 
four." 

Walking  along  the  corridor,  Mildred  soon 
found  the  door  with  the  square  ground  glass 
pane,  bearing  the  legend : 

"Room  1644.     Sunday  Editor. 
MR.  CROWFOOT  CRANE." 

After  first  knocking  gently  on  the  pane  and 
receiving  no  response,  Mildred  decided  to 


68      A  DAUGHTER  OF  THE  REVOLUTION 

open  it.  She  entered  a  small,  square  room,  in 
which  four  young  women  were  tapping  away 
industriously  upon  their  type-writers. 

"I  want  to  see  Mr.  Crowfoot  Crane,"  said 
Mildred,  politely  handing  her  visiting-card 
to  the  girl  with  the  pleasantest  face. 

The  girl,  to  Mildred's  astonishment,  scorned 
the  card,  but  condescended  to  say,  "Take  a 
seat!" 

Presently  she  returned  to  announce:  "Mr. 
Crane  will  see  you  in  half  an  hour.  He  is 
very  busy!" 

Mildred  entertained  herself  by  walking  to 
the  window  and  looking  at  the  wonderful  pic- 
ture below  her  of  lower  New  York, — the 
threads  of  streets  between  the  "sky-scrapers," 
through  which  miniature  people  and  vehicles 
were  moving  rapidly;  the  tiny  snake-like 
trains  running  along  the  elevated  railways; 
and  the  shining  river  with  its  busy  craft.  She 
became  so  interested  in  watching  an  ocean 
steamer  making  its  rapid  way  towards  the 
Narrows  and  leaving  a  long  trail  of  smoke  be- 
hind that  the  half-hour,  therefore,  seemed 
short;  and  she  was  even  surprised  when  the 
girl  came  to  her  side,  saying,  "Mr.  Crane  will 
see  you  now." 


A  JOURNALISTIC  NOVICE  69 

When  Mildred's  glance  fell  on  Mr.  Crow- 
foot Crane,  who,  seated  at  his  desk,  made  no 
motion  save  to  turn  his  steel-blue  searchlight 
eyes  upon  her,  she  longed  for  a  benignant, 
warm  iceberg  to  sail  suddenly  into  the  room 
and  raise  the  temperature. 

Mr.  Crane  waited  foKher  to  speak,  to  ex- 
plain her  intrusion. 

"Mr.  Crane?"  questioned  Mildred,  pleas- 
antly, with  a  rising  inflexion,  as  an  opening 
conversational  wedge. 

Mr.  Crane's  long,  thin  lips  were  tightly 
clamped ;  but  Mr.  Crane's  steel-blue  eyes  said 
very  plainly:  "You  know  well  enough  who  I 
am.  That's  an  idiotic  question." 

Pause, — an  awkward  pause! 

"I  called  to  see — I  have  brought  you,"  Mil- 
dred began  again  timidly,  "er — er." 

Mr.  Crane  lifted  his  scanty  eyebrows;  but 
his  long,  thin  lips  never  moved. 

"A  manuscript,"  faltered  Mildred,  begin- 
ning to  feel  like  Edward  Lear's 

"Old  man  of  Cape  Horn, 

Who  wished  he  had  never  been  born." 

Mr.  Crowfoot  Crane's  long,  thin  lips  never 
moved. 


70      A  DAUGHTER  OF  THE  REVOLUTION 

Mildred  began  to  wonder  if  she  were  trying 
to  talk  to  a  marble  image. 

"I  should  like,"  she  continued,  "to  write— 
er — er — errurr — to  write  for  the — errurr — 
the — er — New  York  Comet" 

Mr.  Crane's  steel-blue  eyes  seemed  to  say: 
"That  sentiment  is  shared  by  countless  thou- 
sands. Everybody  wants  to  write  for  the 
Comet.  Another  idiotic  remark!" 

"I  have  just  been  to  see  Mr.  John  La 
Farge's  'South  Sea  Pictures.' " 

A  faint  wave  of  interest  passed  over 
Crane's  marble  features;  Crane's  long,  thin 
nose  sniffed  a  possible  story;  and  Crane's  long, 
thin  lips  asked:  "Is  that  a  manuscript  that  you 
have  there?" 

It  was  Mildred's  turn  to  have  an  opinion 
regarding  idiotic  remarks,  but  she  would 
rather  have  impaled  herself  on  Mr.  Crane's 
mighty  editorial  pen  than  to  have  revealed 
any  criticism;  and  so,  she  very  apologetically 
confessed  that  it  was. 

He  took  the  manuscript  coldly  from  Mil- 
dred; looked  quickly  at  the  number  of  pages 
to  gauge  the  number  of  words;  and  then 
glanced  rapidly  through  it  to  taste  its  quality. 

Mildred,  her  heart  beating  very  fast,  for 


A  JOURNALISTIC  NOVICE  71 

his  unsympathetic  manner  had  called  forth 
everything  that  was  sensitive  in  her  nature, 
watched  him  tensely;  and,  although  quiver- 
ing, struggled  with  herself  to  maintain  a  calm 
exterior. 

"We  can't  use  this,"  he  said  presently,  hand- 
ing the  sheets  back  to  her  with  a  contemptuous 
gesture  that  revealed  his  disgust,  even  more 
than  the  tone  of  his  voice  and  the  sneer  on  his 
face.  He  made  it  very  evident  that  he  wanted 
to  get  rid  of  the  worthless  manuscript  as 
quickly  as  possible. 

Mildred  did  not  know  what  to  make  of  such 
discourtesy.  She  hardly  knew  how  to  take 
her  departure.  Moreover,  she  was  trem- 
bling. 

At  that  moment  the  Great  Man  in  the  Edi- 
torial Chair  seemed  to  have  become  an  imper- 
sonation of  Osiris  and  the  despised  offering 
she  had  made  to  the  implacable  god  seemed 
to  turn  from  a  manuscript  into  her  own  shiv- 
ering, quivering  soul,  which  he  had  weighed 
in  the  balance  and  found  wanting. 

"I'll  have  to  buy  a  microscope  to  hand  to 
the  next  editor  I  call  upon  so  that  he  can  see 
me,"  Mildred  admitted  to  herself,  smiling  in- 
wardly; for  she  felt  the  humor  of  the  situa- 


72      A  DAUGHTER  OF  THE  REVOLUTION 

tion,  although  she  was  terribly  annoyed  that 
she  could  allow  any  one  to  humiliate  her  so 
intensely. 

"I'll  never  come  here  again,"  her  proud 
spirit  resolved,  "if  I  starve  to  death." 

As  she  rose,  Osiris  opened  his  thin  lips  to 
say:  "La  Farge  is  a  good  name.  Now  if  you 
could  bring  me  a  little  story — say,  a  couple  of 
sticks — on  a  day  with  John  La  Farge  at  Coney 
Island—" 

Mildred  gasped. 

"Or,"  he  continued,  not  noting  her  look  of 
surprise  and  horror,  "what  he  used  to  eat  for 
breakfast,  why,  I  might — I  don't  say  I  would, 
for  I  don't  know  yet  if  you  can  write — I 
might—" 

Mildred  interrupted,  with 

"Good  afternoon,  Mr.  Crane." 

The  Great  Man,  amazed  at  her  tone  and 
manner,  looked  up,  but  said  nothing.  Still 
keeping  his  seat,  he  began  to  write  violently, 
while  Mildred  pushed  open  the  heavy  door. 

As  she  walked  through  the  ante-room  she 
was  perfectly  certain  that  the  four  typists, 
who  looked  at  her  critically  as  she  passed 
them,  knew  that  her  call  had  been  unsuccess- 
ful. The  rapid  clicks  of  their  machines 


A  JOURNALISTIC  NOVICE  73 

seemed  to  her  ears  sarcastic  and  gleeful  com- 
ments upon  her  failure. 

Mildred  was  quite  faint  when  she  reached 
the  elevator,  which  took  her  down  the  six- 
teen floors  with  a  sudden  and  terrific  drop,  not 
calculated  to  restore  her  heart-beats  and  her 
breath. 

"I  shall  have  to  go  home,  now,"  she  thought. 
"I  can't  go  through  such  another  ordeal." 
Then,  as  she  walked  along  Nassau  Street  to 
take  the  Fourth  Avenue  car,  the  fresh  air  re- 
vived her  a  little;  and,  with  new  courage,  she 
said  to  herself:  "It  will  be  just  the  same  to- 
morrow. I've  got  to  go  through  with  this.  I 
must  try  to  get  a  start  somewhere.  No  inter- 
view can  last  forever;  and,  at  least,  I  have  ac- 
quired some  experience.  I  can  never  find 
anything  more  forbidding  than  Crowfoot 
Crane." 

Some  newsboys  calling  out  "Evening  Ar- 
gus! Last  Edition!  Last  Sporting  Edition! 
Evening  Argus!  Argus!  Argus!  Argus!  Ar- 
gus!" decided  her.  As  she  happened  to  be  in 
front  of  this  office,  she  concluded  to  try  her 
luck  here. 

The  Argus  dwelt  in  an  unpretentious  build- 
ing. The  Argus  thought  so  highly  of  itself 


74      A  DAUGHTER  OF  THE  REVOLUTION 

that  it  took  pride  in  its  somewhat  shabby 
home. 

Here,  Mildred  encountered  no  form.  She 
soon  found  herself  at  the  top  of  the  two  flights 
of  stairs  without  any  guidance.  She  stopped 
a  boy,  who  was  hurrying  by  with  a  bundle  of 
proofs,  to  ask:  "Where  can  I  find  the  Sunday 
Editor?" 

"Mr.  Bancroft?"  he  replied.  "There," 
pointing  with  his  right  thumb  backwards  to  a 
neighboring  room. 

The  Sunday  Editor,  a  gray-eyed,  tall  man 
of  about  fifty,  rose  from  his  desk  as  Mildred 
entered;  and,  taking  the  visiting-card  from 
her  hand,  glanced  at  it  and  asked  kindly: 

"What  can  I  do  for  you,  Miss  Ashton?" 

Mildred's  heart  gave  a  sudden  leap,  as  she 
rejoiced  to  herself  "All  newspaper  editors  are 
not  Crowfoot  Cranes!" 

Mr.  Bancroft,  for  that  was  the  name  of  this 
editor,  looked  quickly  through  the  manuscript 
and  said:  "I  may  be  able  to  use  this  in  next 
Sunday's  Supplement." 

"Oh,  how  very  kind  of  you!"  exclaimed 
Mildred,  and,  after  a  pause,  added  laugh- 
ingly: "Now,  Mr.  Bancroft,  I  am  going  to 
work  the  willing  horse  to  death." 


A  JOURNALISTIC  NOVICE  75 

Mr.  Bancroft  smiled. 

"One  good  turn,"  she  continued  airily,  "de- 
serves another.  Could  I  bring  you  anything 
more?" 

"Why,  yes,"  replied  Mr.  Bancroft,  encour- 
agingly. "Come  in  next  Tuesday  with  a 
suggestion  for  a  special  Sunday  article;  or,  if 
you  have  anything  written,  bring  it  down 
Wednesday.  We  make  up  on  Thursday. 
After  Wednesday  will  be  too  late." 

"Thank  you,"  said  the  grateful  Mildred. 
"I've  one  or  two  articles  that  I  will  bring  you 
next  Wednesday.  Shall  I  call  about  this 
time?" 

"Any  time  between  one  and  midnight,"  said 
Bancroft,  rising;  "those  are  my  hours." 

This  was  the  beginning  of  quite  a  little  jour- 
nalistic experience  for  Mildred.  During  the 
rest  of  the  winter  and  through  the  spring  and 
summer  she  appeared  every  Tuesday,  or  Wed- 
nesday, at  the  Argus  with  a  special  article,  or 
a  topic  to  discuss  with  Mr.  Bancroft  for  treat- 
ment, if  he  accepted  it.  Occasionally,  too, 
Mr.  Bancroft  gave  her  an  assignment  of  a 
more  journalistic  character  than  her  own  sug- 
gestions, though  he  seemed  hard  pressed  often 
times  to  find  a  suitable  subject  to  give  her. 


CHAPTER  VII 

A  SUNDAY  SPECIAL 

ONE   Wednesday    afternoon    in   August, 
when  the  city  was  enveloped  in  a  moist 
haze  of  heat  and  a  steaming  air  rose  from  the 
hot  pavements,  Mildred  started  on  her  weekly 
call  upon  Mr.  Bancroft. 

Refreshed  by  the  breeze  created  by  the 
open  car  on  its  passage  down  town,  Mildred 
jumped  out  lightly;  and  tripping  into  Park 
Row,  slipped  through  the  surging  sea  of  peo- 
ple and  quietly  into  the  side  door  of  the  Daily 
Argus.  She  walked  up  the  two  long  flights 
of  stairs,  not  overly  clean,  and  on  the  first 
landing  passed  the  long  room  in  which  a 
dozen  or  more  reporters,  young  and  old,  were 
writing  furiously  at  their  desks.  Although  it 
was  but  three  o'clock  in  the  afternoon,  the 
lights  were  lit  and  their  green  shades,  bent  low 
over  these  desks,  gave  a  half  solemn  quality  to 
the  dark  room,  in  which  nothing  was  heard 

but  the  scratching  of  pens  and  the  whirr  of 

76 


A  SUNDAY  SPECIAL  77 

the  electric  fan  that  was  doing  its  best  to  cool 
the  stifling  atmosphere.  At  the  one  window 
in  the  distance  the  City  Editor,  his  desk  piled 
with  proofs,  manuscripts,  letters  and  various 
editions  of  the  Daily  Argus,  which  were 
served  to  him  every  few  minutes,  sat  talking 
to  a  visitor  and  a  "printers  devil"  at  the  same 
time.  The  whole  room  had  that  peculiar 
smell  of  damp  paper  and  ink,  which  every  one 
who  calls  in  a  newspaper  office  for  the  first 
time  notices,  even  if  he  does  not  possess  "a 
nose  for  news." 

As  Mildred  went  by  the  open  door,  several 
reporters  stopped  writing  to  look  up;  and  no 
wonder,  for  she  was  a  most  refreshing  appari- 
tion. The  young  man  who  was  editing  a 
bunch  of  paragraphs  on  "Feminine  Fashions" 
for  the  Sunday  paper  added  promptly  that 
"the  most  correct  costume  for  the  days  ruled 
by  Sirius  is  a  suit  of  light  blue  linen,  topped 
with  a  small  blue  straw  hat  garnished  with 
pale  yellow  roses,  and  rendered  very  smart  by 
the  addition  of  long  yellow  gloves  and  black 
patent  leather  Oxford  ties";  and  he  "tipped  a 
wink"  to  the  lightning  sketch  artist. 

Mildred  was  fanning  as  she  walked  along 
and  her  eyes  took  in  the  scene  mechanically. 


78      A  DAUGHTER  OF  THE  REVOLUTION 

She  did  not  notice,  however,  that  the  men  no- 
ticed her,  her  one  idea  being  her  business 
errand.  One  man  she  had  to  heed, — a  young 
reporter  who,  with  his  hat  hastily  jammed  on 
his  head  sideways,  compelled  her  to  stand 
aside  to  allow  him  to  dash  down  the  stairway, 
three  steps  at  a  time.  He  was  evidently  off  on 
a  sudden  rush  assignment;  and  at  such  a  rate 
of  speed  he  would  certainly  overtake  it,  what- 
ever it  was. 

Arriving  at  the  top,  Mildred  walked  to  the 
room  of  the  Sunday  Editor.  The  door  was 
open,  although  no  one  was  sitting  at  either  of 
the  two  desks  in  this  dismal  den,  whose  win- 
dows, overshadowed  by  sky-scrapers,  were 
further  darkened  with  cobwebs. 

Mildred,  knowing  from  experience  that  the 
man  she  sought  would  soon  appear — as  his 
hours  were  from  one  o'clock  to  midnight — sat 
down  in  the  bent-wood  chair  at  the  side  of  the 
larger  desk  to  await  the  Sunday  Editor's  ar- 
rival. 

"How  do  you  do,  Mr.  Bancroft?"  said  Mil- 
dred, slightly  rising  as  the  latter  entered,  and 
holding  out  her  hand.  "Isn't  it  dreadfully 
warm?" 

"Warm?    Are    you    warm?"    he    asked 


A  SUNDAY  SPECIAL  79 

"You  don't  look  it.  You  look  delightfully 
cool."  Then,  after  a  short  pause,  "Well, 
what  have  you  got  to  suggest  for  next  Sun- 
day?" 

"Oh,"  replied  Mildred,  "nothing.  I  can't 
think  of  a  single  thing.  I  have  been  racking 
my  brains  all  day.  It's  your  turn  to  suggest 
something  to  me." 

The  gray-haired  man  smiled.  "I  wish  you 
had  brought  me  something,"  he  said,  regret- 
fully, "I'd  publish  it."  Then,  in  quite  an- 
other tone  of  voice,  "Have  a  banana?"  and  he 
opened  a  paper  bag  that  was  lying  on  his  desk 
and  held  out  a  bunch  containing  six  bananas 
to  Mildred. 

Mildred  laughed  good-naturedly  at  this 
simple  offering.  "Thank  you,"  she  said,  as 
she  broke  one  off  the  bunch. 

Mr.  Bancroft  also  took  one,  stripped  the 
peel  off  quickly  and  began  to  eat  it  before 
Mildred  had  broken  the  skin  of  hers. 

Mr.  Bancroft  did  not  notice  her  amuse- 
ment. He  was  turning  over  something  in  his 
mind.  The  bananas  had  helped  him  gain 
time  and  had  created  a  more  social  atmos- 
phere. 

"I  am  sorry,"  he  repeated,  "that  you  haven't 


8o      A  DAUGHTER  OF  THE  REVOLUTION 

brought  me  something.  I  haven't  any  ideas 
either."  Then  Mr.  Bancroft  paused,  cleared 
his  throat,  lit  a  cigarette,  took  two  puffs  at  it 
contemplating  the  smoke,  and  slung  his  left 
leg  over  the  arm  of  his  editorial  chair.  Then 
looking  at  her  straight  in  the  face,  "Miss  Ash- 
ton,"  he  said,  "I  can't  give  you  an  assign- 
ment. Moreover,  I  don't  intend  to  give  you 
any  more  assignments." 

Mildred  looked  astonished:  "Why,  Mr. 
Bancroft,  I  thought  you  liked  my  articles. 
Haven't  I  given  you  good  work?  I'm  aw- 
fully sorry  if — " 

"Oh,  no,"  he  interrupted,  "that's  not  it  at 
all.  It's  quite  another  matter.  You  see,"  he 
continued,  "in  a  newspaper  we  want, — well, 
we  want  snappy  things.  We  want  all  kinds 
of  things  that  you  can't  do — " 

"I  can  learn,  can't  I?"  interrupted  Mildred. 

"That's  not  it,"  replied  the  discomforted 
Bancroft.  "That's  not  it.  You  can't  get  for 
us  what  we  want.  We — " 

Mildred  broke  into  his  sentence  again: 
"Why  don't  you  tell  me  then — make  it  clear 
to  me?  I've  got  sufficient  intelligence  to  do 
what  others  can  do,  haven't  I?" 

"There  is  no  trouble  about  your  intelli- 


A  SUNDAY  SPECIAL  81 

gence,"  replied  the  Sunday  Editor,  getting 
more  and  more  puzzled  how  to  explain  the 
matter.  "Have  another  banana?" 

"No,  thank  you,"  said  Mildred. 

"Oh,  hang  it,"  cried  Bancroft,  throwing 
away  his  cigarette,  "Miss  Ashton,  you 
shouldn't  be  knocking  about  in  newspaper 
offices.  The  fact  is,  pardon  me,  Miss  Ashton, 
but  you  are  a  kind  of  girl  that  has  no  business 
doing  newspaper  work.  I  can't  give  you  as- 
signments for  the  kind  of  material  we  want 
for  the  Daily  Argus.  There  are  lots  of  us 
who  can  go  to  all  sorts  of  places  and  see  all 
sorts  of  people;  but  you  are  not  the  kind  for 
that  work.  I  have  made  up  my  mind  that  I 
am  not  going  to  give  you  assignments  for  news- 
paper work.  I  am  not  going  to  give  you  any 
more.  There!" 

"But  what  can  I  do?"  asked  Mildred,  quite 
petrified  with  astonishment  and  full  of  grati- 
tude for  his  unexpected  chivalry,  though  awk- 
wardly expressed  and  punctuated  with  ba- 
nanas. 

"Write  books,"  he  said,  calmly  lighting  a 
fresh  cigarette;  "get  in  with  the  publishers 
and  keep  away  from  the  newspaper  business. 
It's  not  your  line." 


82      A  DAUGHTER  OF  THE  REVOLUTION 

"That's  very  kind  of  you,  Mr.  Bancroft," 
replied  Mildred,  "and  I  appreciate  it  very 
much,  very  much  indeed;  but,  in  the  mean- 
time, I  must  have  some  money.  I  must  have 
something  in  next  Sunday's  paper.  I  really 
must.  It's  imperative.  If  you  could  see 
what  is  in — or,  rather,  what  isn't  in — my 
purse,"  holding  her  little  coin  purse  before 
him,  "you'd  think  so,  too." 

"Well,"  said  Mr.  Bancroft,  weakening, 
"then  let's  see  what  we  can  do ;  but  remember 
this  is  positively  the  last  assignment  you  get 
from  me" 

With  that,  Mr.  Bancroft  picked  up  the 
morning  paper  which  was  lying  on  his  desk, 
and  looked  through  it  hastily  in  search  of  a 
suggestion  that  might  fit  the  occasion.  "I 
can't  see  a  d —  (he  checked  himself)  blessed 
(with  emphasis)  thing  to  give  you.  There  is 
not  a  soul  in  town  for  you  to  interview.  We 
might  get  a  good  'special'  that  way,  if  there 
were  any  first-class  singers,  or  actresses,  in 
town.  It's  no  use,  I  won't  send  you  to  inter- 
view any  men.  Oh,"  he  said  suddenly,  his 
rapid  eye  catching  something  in  the  amuse- 
ment column,  "how  would  you  like  to  inter- 
view the  Human  Fly?" 


A  SUNDAY  SPECIAL  83 

"Anything  you  please,"  Mildred  replied, 
unconcernedly.  "I  don't  care."  Then  with 
a  bright  smile:  "What  is  the  Human  Fly,  Mr. 
Bancroft?" 

"The  Human  Fly,  Miss  Ashton,"  said  the 
Sunday  Editor,  dryly,  "is  a  certain  lady  who 
walks  on  the  ceiling  at  Blake's  Pleasure  Pal- 
ace every  afternoon  and  evening.  I  should 
like — say  about  a  column  of  chatty  talk  with 
her.  How  she  does  it? — If  she  is  frightened? 
— How  she  learned  to  do  it? — How  she  ever 
thought  of  walking  upside  down? — You  know 
the  kind  of  thing  I  want.  Give  me  a  little 
pen-portrait  of  her;  and  if  she  has  an  assistant, 
mention  that.  Chatty  stuff — easy — nice  read- 
ing— you  know  what  I  mean." 

"Yes;  I  think  I  understand,"  said  Mil- 
dred. 

"By  the  way,  Miss  Ashton,"  asked  Mr.  Ban- 
croft, stung  by  a  sudden  thought,  "were  you 
ever  in  a  music-hall?" 

"No,  never  in  my  life,  Mr.  Bancroft,"  re- 
plied Mildred. 

"Oh,  Lord!"  groaned  Bancroft.  "Then  I 
will  have  to  give  you  a — a — "  he  laughed,  "a 
chaperon!  I  say,  Clapp,"  he  called  to  the 
next  room,  "come  here  a  minute." 


84      A  DAUGHTER  OF  THE  REVOLUTION 

Enter  Clapp. 

Mildred  looked  up  to  see  a  medium-sized 
slender  man  of  about  thirty-five,  with  light 
moustache,  blue  eyes  and  the  marks  of  several 
sabre  cuts  on  his  left  cheek.  He  was  dressed 
in  a  light  summer  suit  of  gray  with  dark  red 
necktie  and  tan  shoes.  Owing  to  the  heat,  he 
wore  no  waistcoat.  On  his  finger  was  a  gold 
seal  ring  with  a  coat-of-arms. 

"Clapp,"  said  the  Sunday  Editor,  "I  want 
to  introduce  you  to  Miss  Ashton.  Now, 
Clapp,  I  want  you  to  take  Miss  Ashton  up  to 
Blake's  Pleasure  Palace.  She's  going  to  in- 
terview the  Human  Fly  for  the  Sunday  paper, 
and  I  want  you  to  take  care  of  her.  Miss 
Ashton  has  never  been  inside  of  a  music-hall." 

Clapp's  bow  to  Mildred  told  her  at  once 
that  he  was  something  better  than  the  ordinary 
reporter. 

"I  shall  be  delighted,"  Clapp  said,  both  to 
his  chief  and  to  Miss  Ashton;  and,  then,  turn- 
ing to  the  latter,  "Shall  we  start  at  once?  I 
will  be  ready  in  a  moment." 

"Yes,"  said  Mildred,  "I  am  ready." 

As  Clapp  returned  with  his  Panama  hat 
bent  in  the  latest  style,  Bancroft  said:  "By  the 


A  SUNDAY  SPECIAL  85 

way,  Clapp,  have  you  carfare  and  money  for 
the  tickets?" 

"Oh,  plenty,"  replied  Clapp,  his  face  beam- 
ing with  delight  at  such  a  pleasant  interrup- 
tion from  the  afternoon's  routine. 

"Now,  Miss  Ashton,"  said  Bancroft,  turn- 
ing to  Mildred  and  smiling,  "you  see  how  im- 
possible you  are.  I  give  you  an  assignment 
and  I  have  to  send  some  one  to  take  care  of 
you.  Don't  you  think  it  would  be  more  eco- 
nomical for  the  paper  to  give  it  to  Mr.  Clapp 
in  the  first  place?" 

"Yes;  I  think  it  would,"  agreed  Mildred, 
laughingly.  "Good-bye,  Mr.  Bancroft.  We 
are  off  to  catch  the  Human  Fly!  I  am  ter- 
ribly excited.  I  am  crazy  now  to  see  what  she 
is  like." 

"Remember  this  is  your  last  assignment," 
called  out  Bancroft  to  the  retreating  figure. 

Mildred  returned  to  the  door:  "You 
shouldn't  tell  me  that,  Mr.  Bancroft.  I  might 
send  you  a  poor  article." 

"There's  no  fear  of  that,  Miss  Ashton,"  re- 
plied Bancroft,  picking  up  a  large  batch  of 
proofs. 

Bancroft  continued  to  read  his  proofs  until 


86  A  DAUGHTER  OF  THE  REVOLUTION 

late  in  the  evening.  It  took  him  longer  than 
usual ;  for  on  the  wide  margins  he  saw  a  series 
of  pictures  of  a  slender  girl  dressed  in  light 
blue,  with  artless  face  and  unconscious  man- 
ner. 


CHAPTER  VIII 
BLAKE'S  PLEASURE  PALACE 

44TT  7E  had  best  take  the  subway,  unless 

VV  you  object,"  said  Clapp,  as  they 
reached  the  street  and  he  passed  quickly  be- 
hind Mildred  to  the  outside. 

Fortunately,  they  caught  the  express  and 
were  soon  at  Times  Square.  From  there  half 
a  minute  brought  them  to  Blake's  Pleasure 
Palace,  where  a  huge  poster  representing 
Mademoiselle  Aimee,  the  Human  Fly,  walk- 
ing on  the  ceiling,  was  so  conspicuously  placed 
that  it  overshadowed  all  the  other  attractions. 

"I  think,  Miss  Ashton,"  observed  Clapp, 
after  he  had  bought  the  tickets,  "from  what 
information  I  was  able  to  gather,  that  the  Hu- 
man Fly  does  her  stunt  in  about  half  an 
hour.  We  shall  have  to  take  a  table  and  or- 
der some  beer.  Will  you  mind?" 

"Not  at  all,"  replied  Mildred,  who  be- 
trayed her  lack  of  sympathy  with  the  scene 

87 


88      A  DAUGHTER  OF  THE  REVOLUTION 

the  moment  they  entered  the  door  and  her 
musical  ears  were  greeted  with  the  high- 
pitched  nasal  notes  of  a  typical  English  music- 
hall  singer,  with  his  horrible,  flattened  vowels. 

The  stage  was  set  with  a  tropical  scene. 
Palm-trees,  waving  their  long  leaves  in  an  ar- 
tificial breeze,  stood  out  boldly  against  a 
moonlight  background,  where  green  waves 
were  occasionally  breaking  in  white  foam 
upon  a  yellow  beach.  More  boldly  than  the 
palm-trees  stood  out  a  group  of  ballet-girls,  in 
short,  frilly,  diaphanous  skirts  of  pink  and 
green  gauze,  who  were  dancing  with  some 
very  black  Polynesians,  in  scarlet  loin  cloths 
and  wearing  wide  silver  bracelets  and  anklets. 
These  incongruous  dancers  had  just  been  in- 
troduced by  a  kindly  disposed,  though  greatly 
emaciated,  missionary,  who  sat  on  a  camp- 
stool  in  the  foreground  watching  the  ballet 
until  rapture  compelled  him  to  burst  into 
song. 

It  was  while  he  was  imparting  his  enthu- 
siasm to  the  delighted  audience  that  Clapp  and 
Mildred  entered. 

Mildred  gave  one  glance  at  the  stage  and 
took  her  seat  at  the  little  round  table  indicated 
by  Clapp,  carefully  turning  her  back  upon 


BLAKE'S  PLEASURE  PALACE  89 

Polynesia,  and  not  so  much  as  deigning  to  look 
around  at  the  neighboring  tables,  where  men 
and  women  were  drinking  and  smoking  as 
they  looked  at  the  stage  and  listened  to  the 
music. 

As  soon  as  the  beer  arrived,  Clapp  drank 
his,  and  rising,  said:  "Miss  Ashton,  if  you  will 
excuse  me,  I  will  go  behind  the  scenes  and  in- 
vite the  Human  Fly  and  her  sister  to  join  us  in 
a  glass  of  beer.  That  will  be  the  best  way  for 
you  to  get  your  'story.' ' 

In  about  ten  minutes  after  he  had  left,  Poly- 
nesia, which  had  been  flooded  with  every  col- 
ored light  imaginable,  perished  in  a  consid- 
erate conflagration,  which  cleared  the  stage 
for  the  stars  of  the  afternoon, — the  Sinclair 
Sisters. 

The  noisy  orchestra  now  changed  its  wild 
rhythms  for  some  sentimental  strains  and  then 
burst  into  a  march  as  the  Sinclair  Sisters  ap- 
peared to  make  their  bows  to  welcoming  ap- 
plause. 

Mildred  was  now  compelled  to  look  at  the 
stage.  She  saw  two  well-featured  women  of 
graceful  figure  in  rose-colored  tights  and 
white  bodices  trimmed  with  bunches  of  rose- 
colored  ribbons  here  and  there  and  their  hair 


90     A  DAUGHTER  OF  THE  REVOLUTION 

very  beautifully  arranged  by  a  competent 
hair-dresser. 

Mildred  had  noticed  soon  after  she  had 
seated  herself  that  there  was  a  little  decorated 
pavilion  not  far  from  her  seat  quite  high  up 
in  the  air,  and  at  some  distance  from  it, 
also  high  in  the  air,  there  was  a  sort  of 
perch.  Into  the  pavilion  climbed  Made- 
moiselle Aimee  and  into  the  perch  climbed 
Mademoiselle  Rose.  After  each  had  prac- 
tised a  few  fancy  tricks,  such  as  turning  upside 
down  and  swinging  by  the  heels,  Made- 
moiselle Rose  suddenly  called  out  "All 
right"  and  away  darted  Mademoiselle  Aimee 
through  the  air  to  clasp  the  outstretched 
hands  of  Mademoiselle  Rose,  who  was  wait- 
ing to  receive  her  projectile  sister,  hanging 
by  her  heels  with  her  head  and  arms  dangling 
downwards.  Hand  in  hand  they  swung  for  a 
few  minutes  until  Mademoiselle  Aimee  gave 
a  dexterous  wiggle  and  freed  herself  without 
disturbing  the  composure  of  the  wonderfully 
self-poised  Mademoiselle  Rose,  and  sprang 
back  to  her  pavilion. 

After  this  double  act  was  finished  the  sisters 
retired.  In  a  few  moments  Mademoiselle 
Aimee  returned,  this  time  with  the  addition 


BLAKE'S  PLEASURE  PALACE  91 

to  her  costume  of  suction  shoes,  shaped  like 
the  pad  of  a  fly's  foot.  Mounting  a  ladder, 
she  soon  reached  the  ceiling,  upon  which  she 
slowly  walked  the  whole  length  of  the  room, 
her  head  hanging  downwards. 

Applause! 

The  Human  Fly  Had  finished  her  after- 
noon's performance. 

Mr.  Clapp  encouraged  Mildred  by:  "They 
will  soon  be  here  now.  Just  as  soon  as  they 
have  changed  their  clothes." 

In  an  incredibly  short  time  the  two  sis- 
ters appeared.  Mr.  Clapp,  rising,  introduced 
them  to  Miss  Ashton;  and  beckoning  to  a 
waiter,  ordered  "Four  beers." 

Mildred  was  surprised  at  the  quiet  man- 
ners and  dress  of  these  "circus  girls,"  who  nat- 
urally attracted  much  attention  from  the  occu- 
pants of  the  neighboring  tables.  It  was  a  new 
experience  for  Mildred  to  come  into  contact 
with  people  of  a  world  so  widely  separated 
from  hers. 

It  also  astonished  her  to  see  how  different  the 
Sinclair  Sisters  now  were,  for  on  the  trapeze 
they  had  looked  almost  like  twins.  Mademoi- 
selle Rose  was  very  dark,  with  black  hair  and 
black  eyes — Spanish  eyes,  full  of  fire  and  light 


92      A  DAUGHTER  OF  THE  REVOLUTION 

— and  her  pale  complexion  gave  a  melancholy 
quality  to  her  features.  In  short,  Mademoi- 
selle Rose  was  quite  a  romantic  type.  She 
was  dressed  in  a  gown  of  black  and  white 
checked  silk,  trimmed  with  black  lace  and  a 
white  leghorn  hat  was  dented  becomingly 
about  her  face  and  trimmed  with  large  purple 
flowers.  She  wore  gray  gloves  and  carried  a 
lace  parasol. 

The  Human  Fly  was  fair.  She  had  light 
hair  and  a  merry  face.  Her  gown  was  of  blue 
gray  cloth  and  a  profusion  of  scarlet  plumes 
waved  upon  her  large  red  hat. 

The  "circus  girls"  were  greatly  surprised  at 
Mildred.  Evidently  "the  lidy"  (they  were 
English  girls  and  spoke  with  an  East  End  ac- 
cent) ,  who  was  going  to  write  them  up  for  one 
of  the  big  New  York  "pypers,"  was  different 
from  what  they  had  expected  to  see.  So  they 
were  shy  and  quiet. 

As  the  four  sat  drinking  their  beer,  Mildred 
asked  a  few  questions,  and  Mr.  Clapp,  follow- 
ing her  lead,  asked  others  that  brought  out 
some  details  from  the  reticent  girls.  For  in- 
stance, that  they  thought  this  trapeze  too  low; 
for  the  higher  they  were  in  the  air,  the  better 
they  could  work.  "Besides,"  added  Made- 


BLAKE'S  PLEASURE  PALACE  93 

moiselle  Rose,  "we  are  afraid  we  might  fall 
on  some  of  the  people  and  hurt  them." 

Mildred  noted  with  surprise  that  this  was 
said  with  a  delightful  nonchalance,  as  if  there 
was  not  the  slightest  possible  chance  of  injury 
to  themselves  in  such  a  catastrophe. 

"We  made  two  mistakes  to-day,"  added 
the  Human  Fly;  "the  lights  were  not  properly 
arranged  and  they  blinded  us.  Oh,  no!  We 
never  change  our  positions.  We  couldn't  do 
that.  Each  is  trained  to  do  her  especial  part. 
My  sister  does  the  catching  and  I  do  the 
flight." 

"We  have  to  practice  every  day  for  several 
hours,"  explained  Mademoiselle  Rose,  "and 
we  try  new  things  then.  We  go  to  see  all  the 
acrobats  and  then  we  come  home  and  try  to 
copy  them.  We  can't  do  all  that  the  men  do; 
but  we  try  everything,  and  we  get  a  great  deal 
through  perseverance." 

"It  isn't  as  easy  to  walk  on  the  ceiling  as  it 
used  to  be,"  said  the  Human  Fly.  "I  am  get- 
ting so  much  stouter  and  my  weight  is  against 
me.  I  have  been  walking  on  the  ceiling  ever 
since  I  was  eight  years  old.  First,  I  tried 
walking  on  tables.  Then  I  went  gradually 
higher  and  higher.  It  made  me  frightfully 


94      A  DAUGHTER  OF  THE  REVOLUTION 

dizzy  at  first.  I  sometimes  strain  a  muscle. 
I  did  yesterday,  and  that  is  why  I  couldn't 
walk  well  to-day." 

Soon  the  beer  was  gone  and  the  conversa- 
tion likewise.  The  Human  Fly  and  her  sis- 
ter, delighted  that  the  interview  had  ter- 
minated, rose  and  said  good-bye,  thanking  Mr. 
Clapp  for  the  beer  and  shaking  hands  with 
Mildred. 

"Have  you  got  any  copy?"  Mr.  Clapp 
asked  Mildred,  as  the  girls  departed. 

"Oh,  yes,"  replied  Mildred  emphatically. 

"Do  you  want  to  stay  any  longer?" 

"Oh,  no,  thank  you,"  more  emphatically. 

"Then,  let  us  go." 

Mildred  was  glad  to  feel  the  fresh  air  again 
after  the  hot  music-hall  with  its  stale  smoke. 
It  was  still  stifling  outside;  the  humidity  was 
high.  Mildred,  tired  and  bored,  was  anx- 
ious to  go  home  and  rest. 

".Where  do  you  live,  Miss  Ashton?"  asked 
Clapp. 

"Lexington  Avenue  and  Fortieth  Street." 

"May  I  accompany  you?" 

"Certainly,  if  you  wish." 

"Suppose  we  take  the  Broadway  car  and  get 
the  air," 


BLAKE'S  PLEASURE  PALACE     95 

"That's  a  good  idea,"  Mildred  acquiesced. 

Joe  Clapp  thought  Mildred  very  delight- 
ful. She  was  a  good  listener  and  he  soon 
found  himself  telling  her  something  of  his  life 
of  adventure;  the  many  places  he  had  trav- 
elled; and  how  he  had  received  his  education 
first  at  Columbia  and  then  at  Bonn.  This  led 
to  a  long  description  of  the  duel  with  a  Ger- 
man student,  which  had  left  its  record  on  his 
cheek.  This  was  new  to  Mildred;  she  had 
never  seen  a  slashed  student  before,  and  was 
consequently  interested  with  a  detailed  ac- 
count of  the  farcical  performance. 

"Thank  you  very  much,  Mr.  Clapp,"  said 
Mildred,  as  they  reached  Mrs.  Carroll's,  "for 
going  with  me.  .We've  had  quite  a  lark, 
haven't  we?" 

"I  enjoyed  it,"  said  Clapp.  "Miss  Ashton, 
may  I  call  and  take  you  to  the  theatre  some 
evening?  I  always  have  tickets  from  the 
Argus." 

"Thank  you,"  said  Mildred.  "I  am  very 
fond  of  the  theatre." 


CHAPTER  IX 

A  HOUSE  OF  CARDS 

MILDRED  was  terribly  worried  that 
Mr.  Bancroft  had  cut  her  off  from  the 
weekly  story  in  the  Sunday  Argus.  It  is  true 
that  the  remuneration  was  small.  She  aver- 
aged only  fifteen  dollars,  but  this,  at  least,  paid 
her  weekly  expenses  at  Mrs.  Carroll's.  She 
was  worried  to  think  of  that  source  of  income 
being  suddenly  cut  off. 

What  should  she  try  for  in  its  place?  Life 
looked  hard  at  this  moment.  Obligations 
must  be  met.  Worse  still,  obligations  must 
be  incurred. 

It  was  depressing  to  have  a  sudden  check 
like  this,  when  she  had  hoped  for  so  much 
from  the  Argus.  Mildred  had  had  vague 
visions  of  working  into  an  editorial  position. 
She  also  had  hopes  of  becoming  musical  critic 
of  the  Argus.  Perhaps,  indeed,  the  Argus 
might  be  so  pleased  with  her  work  (she  in- 

96 


A  HOUSE  OF  CARDS  97 

tended  to  do  so  much  and  such  varied  work) , 
that  eventually  it  might  send  her  to  Europe. 
In  what  capacity  Mildred  did  not  quite  know. 
Her  mind  had  not  worked  out  matters  as  far  as 
that.  She  vaguely  dreamed  of  being  sent  to 
Europe  to  represent  the  paper.  In  that  case, 
she  would  be  free  fromxall  worry  about  money 
and  she  would  have  delightful  experiences. 
She  could  take  social  introductions;  and,  in 
her  youthful  pride,  she  thought  these  would, 
in  some  way,  benefit  the  Argus.  Yes ;  it  had  all 
looked  so  easy.  Her  future  was  assured.  In- 
dustry and  determination  would  bring  it  all 
about.  And  now,  Mr.  Bancroft  had,  with  one 
breath,  blown  away  her  house  of  cards. 

Mildred  was  puzzled.  Long  she  sat  in  her 
chair  in  front  of  the  little  desk  that  Mrs.  Car- 
roll had  found  in  the  hidden  depths  of  the 
house  and  placed  in  Mildred's  room  for  her 
convenience.  People  liked  to  do  things  for 
Mildred.  She  was  always  so  pleased  and 
grateful. 

Mildred  had  thanked  her  most  apprecia- 
tively, although  the  contrast  was  great  between 
this  little  wobbly  desk  with  tooth-pick  legs 
and  her  own  beautiful  mahogany  escritoire 
at  Wild  Acres,  lined  with  satin-wood  and  or- 


98      A  DAUGHTER  OF  THE  REVOLUTION 

namented  with  splendid  wing-shaped  brass 
handles  and  key-plates. 

Mildred  could  not  think  of  Wild  "Acres. 
She  had  to  put  all  thoughts  of  her  dear  old 
home  aside. 

It  was  clear — growing  clearer  every  day  as 
the  blank  future  stared  at  her  in  the  face — that 
she  must  make  a  new  connection.  "I'll  try  the 
magazines,"  she  said.  "Yes;  I'll  try  the  mag- 
azines. Now,  I  wonder  what  I  can  send 
out." 

She  drew  from  her  pigeon-holes  a  few 
poems  that  she  had  written  from  time  to  time. 
Some  of  them  were  sentimental  effusions  of 
her  youth,  at  which  her  lip  curled  scornfully 
as  she  read  them  over;  she  smiled  a  little  at 
several  parodies  and  other  humorous  verses; 
but  decided  that  none  of  these  would  impress 
an  editor.  Then  she  looked  at  her  more  re- 
cent work. 

"One  of  these  might  do,"  she  said  cheer- 
fully, opening  a  package  labelled  "Transla- 
tions of  French  Poems."  "I'll  try  one  of  these 
on  Murray's  Magazine." 

Having  placed  them  in  a  large  envelope, 
she  addressed  another  envelope  to  herself, 


A  HOUSE  OF  CARDS  99 

stamped  it  and  folded  it  to  fit  into  the  larger 
envelope.    Then  she  wrote: 

AUG.  12,  1911. 
To  the  Editor  Murray's  Magazine. 

Messrs.  Murray,  Hodge  and  Company, 

New  York  City. 

DEAR  SIR:  I  am  sending  you  a  translation  that  I 
have  just  made  of  a  chanson  by  Victor  Hugo,  hoping  that 
it  may  be  worthy  of  a  place  in  your  magazine. 

Faithfully  yours, 

MILDRED  ASHTON. 

P.  S.  I  enclose  the  original,  so  that  you  may  see  that 
I  have  followed  the  words  and  the  sentiment  as  closely 
as  possible. 

M.  A. 

"That  is  not  strictly  true,"  said  Mildred, 
as  she  read  the  letter  once  more.  "That  was 
a  slip  of  the  pen.  It  isn't  'just  made' :  I  made 
it  a  month  ago.  I  think  I  will  leave  it  now. 
The  Murrays  will  be  sure  to  believe  that  they 
have  the  first  chance  at  it." 

Mildred  was  young  at  the  profession  of  let- 
ters! 

When  she  put  on  her  hat  to  go  out  and  drop 
the  valuable  contribution  into  the  letter-box 
at  the  corner,  she  was  confident  that  in  a  day 


ioo      A  DAUGHTER  OF  THE  REVOLUTION 

or  two  she  would  receive  an  enthusiastic  re- 
ply, accompanied  with  a  cheque  for  about  ten 
dollars  and  a  request  for  as  many  more  con- 
tributions as  she  was  able  to  produce.  Most 
probably,  the  editor  would  ask  her  to  call 
and  suggest  articles  that  she  would  like  to 
write.  This  was  a  splendid  way  to  break  the 
ice. 

"I'm  glad  I  thought  of  this,"  said  Mil- 
dred, talking  to  herself.  "I  must  write 
more  verses.  I  must  get  a  lot  of  things 
ready.  I'll  just  bombard  the  magazines.  I 
don't  believe  I'll  have  any  trouble  whatever 
in  getting  the  Murrays  to  take  my  poems. 
Then,  when  I  publish  enough,  they  will  bring 
them  out  in  book- form.  Hooray!  Besides, 
I  can  elaborate  several  sketches  that  I  have 
made  for  stories.  Well,  Mr.  Bancroft,  per- 
haps after  all,  you  are  a  blessing  in  disguise! 
I  can't  go  to  such  places  as  Blake's  Pleasure 
Palace,  if  that  is  what  newspaper  work  means. 
It  was  awfully  funny,  and  I'm  glad  I  saw  it 
all;  but  I'll  never  go  again  to  such  a  place,  if 
I  can  help  it." 

And  Mildred,  with  her  sanguine  tempera- 
ment, laid  her  head  upon  her  pillow  in  her  lit- 
tle shabby  room  and  quickly  fell  asleep,  per- 


A  HOUSE  OF  CARDS  101 

fectly  certain  that  the  road  of  the  immediate 
future  would  soon  be  blossoming  with  thorn- 
less  roses. 

Oh,  Life!  we  abuse  you  sometimes;  but  how 
merciful  you  are  to  veil  Youth's  eyes  with  the 
golden  dust  of  Hope! 

For  several  weeks  Mildred  watched  every 
mail  for  a  reply.  She  became  quite  worn  out 
with  the  strain  of  expecting  the  letter  that  was 
to  bring  the  glad  tidings  of  acceptance.  It 
meant  so  much  to  her.  It  meant  not  merely 
the  publication  of  one  of  her  writings,  but  the 
opening  of  a  door  to  Success. 

The  expected  ten  dollars  had  been  appro- 
priated (though  not  spent)  for  so  many  things 
that  Mildred  had  a  charge  account  against 
herself  of  seventy,  or  eighty,  dollars! 

At  last,  after  she  had  waited  two  months, 
the  envelope  addressed  in  her  own  handwrit- 
ing appeared  one  morning  upon  her  plate  at 
the  breakfast  table.  Mildred  saw  it  the  mo- 
ment she  entered  the  room.  She  could  hardly 
wait  to  open  it.  A  more  experienced  littera- 
teur would  have  noticed  that  it  was  suspi- 
ciously thick. 

To  the  intense  disappointment  of  Bernard 
Fogg  and  Miss  Van  Tassel,  Mildred  picked 


102     A  DAUGHTER  OF  THE  REVOLUTION 

up  the  envelope  and  retired  to  her  own  room 
to  read  it  in  private. 
This  is  what  she  read : 

OCTOBER  24,  1913. 
Miss  Mildred  Ashton, 

Lexington  Avenue  and  Fortieth  Street, 

New  York  City. 

DEAR  MADAM:  We  cannot  use  translations.  More- 
over, there  is  no  demand  for  Victor  Hugo  and  authors 
of  his  type,  entirely  belonging  to  a  past  age.  We  are, 
therefore,  returning  the  manuscript,  which  you  were  kind 
enough  to  submit  to  us. 

With  our  grateful  thanks  for  the  opportunity  of  read- 
ing it,  we  are, 

Yours  very  respectfully, 

MURRAY,  HODGE  &  COMPANY. 
Dictated  to 
J.  H.  K. 

"I'm  glad  I  gave  them  so  much  pleasure," 
Mildred  said.  "If  publishers  feel  like  that, 
it's  no  use  to  rattle  Victor  Hugo's  bones  before 
their  modern  vision.  So  into  the  pigeon- 
hole you  go!  I'll  have  to  try  something 
else." 

Mildred  spent  the  whole  day  going  through 
her  papers.  But  the  Crowfoot  Crane  episode 
and  the  letter  from  the  Murrays  gave  her  a 
new  attitude  towards  the  marketable  possibil- 


A  HOUSE  OF  CARDS  103 

ity  of  her  literary  wares;  and  when  she  came 
to  look  over  the  half  dozen  or  so  stories  and 
essays  she  had  selected  as  eligible,  she  rejected 
them  all. 

It  was  Wednesday — the  day  that  Mildred 
always  paid  Mrs.  Carroll  her  twelve  dollars. 
This  week  she  could  nqt  meet  her  obligation. 
It   was    a   horrible    situation    for    Mildred. 
Nothing  like  it  had  ever  happened  to  her. 
What  should  she  do?     Clearly  she  must  ex- 
plain matters  to  Mrs.  Carroll  and  ask  for  an 
extension  of  time.     The  very  idea  was  abhor- 
rent.   In  the  first  place,  Mildred  shrank  from 
asking  such  a  favor  from  Mrs.  Carroll;  and  in 
the  second,  she  did  not  wish  to  expose  her  pe- 
cuniary condition.     Mildred  not  only  had  a 
full  share  of  individual  pride;  but  the  matter 
touched  her  family  pride.     It  hurt  her  to  ad- 
mit to  an  outside  person  that  things  had  got 
into  such  a  tangle.     In  her  youthful  reason- 
ing she  felt  that  there  was  a  disgrace  in  the 
collapse  of  an  old  family  fortune:  funds  and 
homes  always  melted  away  through  incompe- 
tence, or  riotous  living,  and  Mildred  hated 
both.     She  was  too  young  to  realize  that  stern 
Fortune  sometimes  takes  a  hand  in  matters  and 
wrests  away  her  gifts  from  those  who  have 


104      A  DAUGHTER  OF  THE  REVOLUTION 

enjoyed  them  too  long,  quite  independently  of 
what  they  may  do,  or  not  do. 

Cruel  necessity  now  forced  Mildred  to  rise 
to  the  occasion. 

"What's  the  use  of  putting  off  the  evil 
hour?"  said  Mildred,  "I'll  go  and  get  it  over. 
I'll  not  have  this  disagreeable  Sword  of 
Damocles  hanging  over  my  head.  Yes;  I'll 
go  and  get  it  over." 

On  her  way  down  stairs  in  search  of  Mrs. 
Carroll,  Mildred,  concluding  that  she  would 
make  a  clean  breast  of  the  whole  matter, 
framed  her  story  in  the  most  concise  words  so 
that  she  could  get  the  interview  over  quickly. 
She  wanted  no  condolences.  It  is  needless  to 
say  that  Mrs.  Carroll's  surprise  was  great;  but 
she  was  very  sympathetic,  and  her  Southern 
heart  expanded  to  Mildred's  trouble.  She  also 
appreciated  her  sensitiveness  and  her  pride. 
The  daughter  of  Thomas  Pickens  Fairfield, 
of  Goose  Creek,  had  seen  Tulip  Hill  go  under 
the  hammer, — and  she  knew.  Of  course,  she 
would  extend  the  time  of  payment;  and,  more- 
over, indefinitely.  Mrs.  Carroll  and  Mildred 
Ashton  were  about  on  the  same  level  with  re- 
gard to  business  transactions. 

"I  do  hope,"  she  added,  "Miss  Ashton,  that 


A  HOUSE  OF  CARDS  105 

you  will  be  successful  in  your  literary  work. 
/  always  wanted  to  write,  in  fact,  I  am  some- 
thing of  a  scribbler  myself.  The  Fairfields 
are  all  writers.  I  don't  think  it  can  be  very 
hard,  Miss  Ashton,"  she  continued,  "to  get 
started,  because  I  had  a  friend,  Lucy  Wheeler 
— nobody  ever  thought;  she  had  any  gift  for 
writing — who  got  the  first  piece  she  ever  wrote 
accepted  by  the  Saturday  Evening  Post.  Yes ; 
she  did;  and  they  paid  her  two  hundred  dol- 
lars for  it!" 

Mildred's  eyes  opened  wide.  "What  on 
earth  was  it?"  she  asked. 

"Why,  it  was  an  interview  with  the  Pope  on 
the  divorce  question.  Lucy  was  in  Rome,  and 
she  had  a  special  kind  of  introduction  from 
Cardinal  Gibbons  (I  believe  Cardinal  Gib- 
bons is  some  kind  of  a  relative  of  hers)  and  the 
Pope  gave  her  an  audience  and  she  wrote  it 
all  up.  You'll  be  sure  to  get  on." 

"Oh!"  said  Mildred  to  herself  as  she  went 
back  to  her  little  room,  "that's  the  way  peo- 
ple talk  about  writing  who  haven't  had  any 
experience  behind  the  scenes.  It  was  the  in- 
terview with  the  Pope  that  made  the  Saturday 
Evening  Post  take  it  and  pay  her  a  special 
price.  Unfortunately,  there  is  no  St.  Peter's 


io6      A  DAUGHTER  OF  THE  REVOLUTION 

for  me  to  go  to.  I  wish  I  had  some  of  Peter's 
Pence,  though,  just  at  this  moment!" 

Mildred  paced  up  and  down  her  small 
room  like  a  tigress  in  a  cage,  without  any  ap- 
parent motive.  She  was  busy  thinking,  how- 
ever, and  soon  exclaimed  aloud:  "I  know 
what  I'll  do.  I'll  write  an  article  on  Old  New 
York!  That's  what  I'll  do;  and  I'll  send 
it  to  Mr.  Bancroft.  I'll  do  it!  I'm  stuffed 
full  of  Miss  Van  Tassel's  stories:  I  know  all 
her  grandmother's  social  triumphs  in  lower 
Fifth  Avenue,  Second  Avenue,  Hudson 
Square  and  Murray  Hill;  how  she  shopped  in 
Pearl  Street;  and  how  she  strolled  in  Battery 
Park.  I'll  go  to  the  Library  and  get  a 
lot  of  notes;  I'll  buy  some  tracing-paper  and 
I'll  trace  some  pictures  out  of  old  books;  I'll 
hunt  around  in  the  old  print-shops  for  pic- 
tures of  old  New  York  and  celebrities  of  1850; 
and  I'll  go  to  the  Historical  Society  and  look 
through  the  newspapers  of  the  day.  There 
you  are!  Then  I'll  write  it  all  up,  just  as  if 
I  were  really  looking  backward.  Good  idea! 
It  will  take  me  just  a  week  to  do  it.  I'll  do 
it,"  and  bang  went  her  white  hand  on  her  little 
desk  to  emphasize  her  determination. 

In  the  climax  of  Mildred's  exhilaration,  one 


A  HOUSE  OF  CARDS  107 

of  her  manuscripts,  entitled  The  Dream  of 
the  River,  caught  her  eye.  "In  the  mean- 
time," she  said,  "I  believe  I  will  send  this  along 
to  the  Penninck  Company." 

Mildred  had  made  a  good  calculation:  it 
took  her  just  a  week  to  gather  the  material 
and  write  her  essay.  She  began  by  describing 
Jenny  Lind's  concert  at  Castle  Garden;  and 
how  an  epidemic  of  Jenny  Lind  fashions  broke 
out — "Jenny  Lind  handkerchiefs,"  "Jenny 
Lind  plaids"  and  even  "Jenny  Lind  riding- 
hats."  Then  she  gave  a  picture  of  the  Broad- 
way dandy  in  his  fine  patent  leather  boots, 
his  large,  striped  trousers  tightly  fitting  ex- 
cept around  the  boots,  his  gay,  short  waist- 
coat, his  watch  chain  with  its  seal  and 
bunch  of  "charms,"  his  standing  collar  and 
broad,  fancy  tie,  his  sack  coat  with  large 
sleeves  and  his  frizzled  hair  and  tall  hat 
slightly  tipped  to  one  side.  In  contrast,  she 
gave  a  detailed  account  of  the  "Bowery 
swell,"  who  walked  with  a  swagger  and  swing. 

This  was  followed  by  descriptions  of  balls 
and  other  entertainments,  which  were  man- 
aged by  Brown,  who  was  the  fashionable  ca- 
terer of  the  day,  and  sexton  of  Grace  Church 
as  well. 


io8     A  DAUGHTER  OF  THE  REVOLUTION 

Next  came  pen-pictures  of  social  celebrities 
and  famous  literary  persons,  such  as  Thack- 
eray, William  Cullen  Bryant,  Washington  Ir- 
ving, James  K.  Paulding,  Rufus  W.  Griswold, 
Gulian  C.  Verplanck,  Dr.  John  W.  Francis, 
George  P.  Morris,  Charles  Fenno  Hoffman, 
Fitz-Greene  Halleck,  Anna  Cora  Mowatt, 
Catherine  M.  Sedgwick,  N.  P.  Willis  and  his 
sister,  "Fanny  Fern." 

Then  she  closed  with  a  reference  to  the  last 
survivor  of  this  literary  set,  Mrs.  Vincenzo 
Botta,  in  whose  drawing-room  in  West 
Thirty-seventh  Street  for  nearly  forty  years 
every  name  celebrated  in  American  literature 
and  art  had  been  announced  and  in  which 
nearly  every  foreigner  of  distinction  visiting 
New  York  had  been  entertained,  not  forget- 
ting to  describe  the  famous  evening  when  Poe 
read  The  Raven  for  the  first  time  in  public 
to  Miss  Lynch's  guests. 

When  this  article  was  completed,  Mildred 
decided  not  to  send  it  to  the  Argus.  ."Mr. 
Bancroft  will  be  sure  to  cut  it  down,"  she  said, 
"and  not  use  half  the  pictures,  and  he  would 
only  send  me  about  eight,  or  ten,  dollars  for 
it.  The  next  thing  is  what  shall  I  do  with  it? 
The  Murrays?  No;  no  more  Murrays  just 


A  HOUSE  OF  CARDS  109 

at  present.  Oh,  I  know  what  I  will  do;  I 
will  send  it  to  Allman's  Magazine." 

Mildred  was  learning! 

She  had  travelled  a  long  distance  since  the 
day  she  called  on  Crowfoot  Crane!  Yes; 
Mildred  was  learning! 

Two  weeks  later,  The  Dream  of  the  River 
came  back  from  the  Penninck  Company  with 
a  printed  slip  reading:  "Returned  with 
thanks."  The  envelope  with  "Allman's  Mag- 
azine" in  the  upper  left  hand  corner  which  ar- 
rived on  the  same  day,  contained  a  cheque  for 
one  hundred  dollars  (for  "text  and  pictures") 
and  the  hope  that  the  writer  would  feel  suf- 
ficiently encouraged  to  contribute  one  or  two 
more  papers.  The  editor  also  added  "We 
like  particularly  your  anecdotes  of  N.  P. 
Willis,  "Fanny  Fern"  and  Thackeray.  Can 
you  not  give  us  more  of  the  same  kind?  We 
are  bringing  this  out  in  an  early  number  and 
should  like  another  article  to  follow  it." 

"I  call  this  good  luck!"  exclaimed  Mildred. 
"I  can  go  on  indefinitely  with  this  kind  of 
thing.  Life  again  looks  easy!" 


CHAPTER  X 

AN  EVENING  RECEPTION 

"TSN'T  that  Mildred  Ashton?"  said  Mrs. 

JL  Jack  Conway  to  her  husband. 

"Yes;  I  think  it  is,"  he  replied,  "but  I  am 
not  quite  sure.  I  can't  see  her  face." 

"Neither  can  I,"  said  Mrs.  Conway,  "but 
I  think  it  is.  I  wish  she'd  turn  'round." 

At  that  moment,  the  enthusiastic,  though 
gentle,  clapping  of  the  gloved  hands  of  several 
hundred  guests  diverted  the  attention  of  Mr. 
and  Mrs.  Conway  to  the  arrival  of  Signer 
Marconi,  whose  slight  figure,  in  evening  dress 
of  a  decidedly  Italian  cut,  was  now  walking 
down  the  passage-way  through  the  chairs  to 
the  raised  platform  from  which  he,  as  guest  of 
honor,  was  going  to  deliver  an  informal  ad- 
dress on  wireless  telegraphy  to  a  most  distin- 
guished gathering. 

For  more  than  a  quarter  of  a  century,  Mrs. 
Henry's  receptions  had  held  a  unique  place 

among    New   .York's    social    entertainments. 

no 


AN  EVENING  RECEPTION  in 

There  were  several  reasons  for  this.  It  is 
hard  to  say  which  was  the  chief  one. 

Perhaps  the  first  reason  was  that  Mrs. 
Henry  herself  was  possessed  of  unusual  per- 
sonality, culture  and  charm;  perhaps,  the  sec- 
ond one  was  that,  as  the  widow  of  a  distin- 
guished astronomer,  she  attracted  to  her  Mad- 
ison Avenue  home  scientists,  men  of  letters, 
and  artists,  who  delighted  in  her  own  respon- 
sive intellect.  Nor  were  they  averse  to  en- 
joying her  graceful,  charming  hospitality,  her 
delightful  dinners  and  her  notable  receptions. 
Another  reason  was  that,  coming  from  an  old 
Knickerbocker  family  possessed  of  wealth 
and  social  position  for  many  generations,  Mrs. 
Henry  naturally  continued  her  family  tradi- 
tions. 

Moreover,  Mrs.  Henry  had  made  a  gift  to 
science  herself.  She  had  equipped  two  ob- 
servatories— one  in  North  America  and  one  in 
South  America — which  she  now  maintained 
— to  continue  her  husband's  work  of  photo- 
graphing the  heavens.  Through  this  highly 
intelligent  disposition  of  a  great  part  of  her 
fortune,  the  pursuit  and  development  of  one 
branch  of  Science  had  been  made  possible. 
Therefore,  though  most  unostentatious  in  this 


112      A  DAUGHTER  OF  THE  REVOLUTION 

matter — which  had  been  the  chief  occupation 
of  her  thought  for  years — Mrs.  Henry  had 
won  the  admiration  and  great  respect  of  the 
scientific  world  in  both  continents.  Her 
name  was  known  throughout  the  world. 

Those  who  did  not  appreciate  the  value  of 
this  gift  and  who  could  not  understand  its  full 
significance,  were,  at  least,  able  to  see  in  it  a 
touching  and  exquisite  memorial  from  a  de- 
voted wife  to  a  devoted  husband,  who  hap- 
pened to  be  a  pioneer  in  a  certain  branch  of 
astronomical  work. 

It  was  natural,  therefore,  that  Mrs.  Henry 
should  attract  all  that  was  best  and  brightest 
in  America. 

Mildred  had  known  Mrs.  Henry  through 
Mrs.  Steele  and  had  accompanied  Mrs.  Steele 
to  several  of  Mrs.  Henry's  entertainments. 
Mildred  was  particularly  attracted  to  Mrs. 
Henry;  and  she  admired  her  greatly.  Con- 
sequently, Mrs.  Henry's  was  one  of  the  few 
houses  at  which  Mildred  called  on  her  return 
to  New  York  under  such  altered  conditions. 

She  told  Mrs.  Henry  about  Wild  Acres  and 
found  her  most  sympathetic.  Her  altered 
conditions  and  boarding-house  address  made 
no  difference  in  Mrs.  Henry's  attitude  to- 


AN  EVENING  RECEPTION  113 

wards  Mildred.  In  a  week  after  Mildred's 
first  call,  she  received  an  invitation  to  a  din- 
ner-party in  the  famous  home. 

So,  of  course,  it  was  Mildred  Ashton  that 
Mrs.  Conway's  quick  eye  had  caught  through 
a  vista  of  white  and  pink  necks  and  shoulders 
and  backs  of  neatly  barbered  heads  of  gray, 
black,  brown,  light,  much,  little  and  no  hair, 
rising  out  of  tall  and  stiffly  starched  collars 
with  white  ties. 

Signer  Marconi  now  took  his  stand  on  the 
platform  and  Mrs.  Henry,  after  receiving  the 
last  late  arrival,  slipped  into  her  seat  at  the 
end  of  the  last  row  of  chairs  in  the  ball-room, 
a  distinguished  figure  in  her  low-necked  white 
silk  dress  trimmed  with  point  lace  and  wear- 
ing her  famous  pearls. 

Those  guests  who  had  noticed  on  the  way 
up  the  wide  stairway  leading  to  the  library, 
where  Mrs.  Henry  received  them  before  they 
passed  quickly  into  the  ball-room,  J.  W.  Alex- 
ander's portrait  of  Mrs.  Henry  in  a  dark 
green  velvet  dress  with  her  two  Italian  grey- 
hounds by  her  side,  marked  that  Mr.  Alex- 
ander had  not  exaggerated  the  rich  red  of  her 
abundant  hair,  which  she  wore  in  a  simple 
knot,  nor  the  steady  gaze  of  her  gray  eyes. 


ii4      A  DAUGHTER  OF  THE  REVOLUTION 

Guests  who  knew  her  well  noticed  a  little 
brighter  gleam  in  those  eyes  for  them  than  for 
her  more  formal  acquaintances  beneath  the 
well-bred  manner  that  gave  the  same  gracious 
greeting  to  all  and  each. 

Marconi  finished  his  delightful  talk.  The 
audience  rose.  Some  of  the  guests  went  for- 
ward to  speak  to  him;  others  sought  their 
friends;  while  others  remained  where  they 
were  to  greet  friends  who  were  making  their 
difficult  way  to  them  through  the  chairs  and 
through  other  animated  groups.  The  buzz 
of  voices  arose  from  the  room  like  a  mumur- 
ous  hum  of  bees. 

Almost  immediately  there  was  a  general 
movement  towards  and  down  the  wide  stair- 
way. Down  they  passed — men  whose  names 
were  as  well  known  in  foreign  countries  as  in 
their  own  country  and  who  wore  their  well- 
earned  decorations  and  orders;  men,  whose 
tiny  colored  buttons  in  the  lapels  of  their  coats 
proclaimed  a  right  to  especial  attentions;  men, 
whose  faces  had  become  familiar  by  means  of 
the  illustrated  magazines  and  papers;  men 
conspicuous  in  science,  letters,  law,  politics, 
medicine  and  art;  retired  army  and  navy  offi- 
cers; and  noted  foreigners  visiting  New  York. 


AN  EVENING  RECEPTION  115 

In  addition  to  these,  there  were  many  social 
celebrities,  young  and  old.  These  notable 
personages  were  escorting  ladies,  of  all  ages, 
attired  in  silks,  satins  and  velvets  of  every  hue 
and  many  styles;  but,  perhaps,  owing  to  the 
great  number  of  middle-aged  guests,  black 
velvet  and  point  lace  was  the  most  universal 
costume.  Rich  laces  and  splendid  family 
jewels  were  worn  on  this  occasion;  for  many 
of  the  guests  were  descendants  of  New  York's 
most  aristocratic  families,  both  Dutch  and 
English.  Here  and  there  in  the  rustling 
stream  of  silks  one  might  note  a  famous  wom- 
an who  had  attained  distinction  in  science,  lit- 
erature, or  art. 

Down  they  all  came  into  the  drawing-room, 
where  the  four  superb  Gobelin  tapestries,  fill- 
ing the  entire  walls,  showed  to  particular  ad- 
vantage in  the  light  of  the  immense  gilt 
torcheres  that  stood  in  each  corner,  each  can- 
delabra bearing  aloft  a  pyramid  of  lighted 
candles.  Some  of  the  guests  seated  them- 
selves upon  the  handsome  Empire  chairs  and 
sofas;  others  paused  before  the  cabinets  and 
vitrines  to  examine  the  rare  collection  of  Cy- 
priote glass  and  choice  miniatures;  while 
others  walked  directly  into  the  dining-room. 


Ii6      A  DAUGHTER  OF  THE  REVOLUTION 

Here  the  light  from  large  silver  lamps, 
softened  by  shades  of  pale  rose-colored  silk 
fell  only  upon  the  table,  so  tastefully  deco- 
rated with  flowers  and  confections  of  various 
kinds  and  massive  bowls  of  silver  containing 
salads  and  punch.  The  rest  of  the  room  was 
in  shadow  and  formed  a  fine  contrast  to  the 
brilliant  drawing-room. 

Mildred  was  listening  enthralled,  to  an  eld- 
erly gentleman  with  smooth-shaven  face  and 
of  quiet  and  unassuming  manners.  She  could 
hardly  believe  that  she  stood  face  to  face  with 
the  "Wizard  of  America,"  Mr.  Edison,  who, 
perhaps,  of  all  the  many  distinguished  persons 
present,  appealed  most  to  her  imagination. 

A  distinguished  surgeon  of  New  York,  noted 
for  his  discoveries  in  the  use  of  radium,  now 
came  up  to  speak  to  Mildred  and  Mr.  Edison. 

While  they  were  talking  Mildred  took  a 
plate  of  chicken  salad  and  creamed  oysters 
from  the  hands  of  one  waiter  and  a  glass  of 
champagne  from  another.  As  she  was  trying 
to  balance  the  glass  on  her  plate  and  bow 
meanwhile  to  an  acquaintance  across  the  din- 
ing-room, she  heard  a  voice  behind  her,  say- 
ing "How  do  you  do,  Mildred?" 

"Why,  Louise,"  Mildred  replied,  turning 


AN  EVENING  RECEPTION  117 

around,  "how  glad  I  am  to  see  you!"  Then, 
"How  do  you  do,  Jack?"  as  the  latter  held  out 
his  hand. 

A  lion-hunter,  having  been  watching  for 
an  opportunity  to  pounce  upon  Mr.  Edison, 
seized  this  moment  to  engage  the  latter's  at- 
tention; and  another  watchful  observer  car- 
ried off  the  distinguished  surgeon.  Mildred 
was,  therefore,  left  free  to  explain  to  the  Con- 
ways  what  she  was  doing  in  New  York  and  to 
make  her  polite  excuses  for  having  neglected 
them. 

Mrs.  Conway  had  changed  very  little  since 
Mildred  first  met  her  six  years  ago  as  Louise 
Steele  at  the  house  of  Mrs.  Steele,  her  aunt 
by  marriage.  Louise  was  then,  according 
to  Mildred's  opinion,  a  veteran  of  twenty-five, 
who  had  seen  seven — actually  seven — sea- 
sons. Mildred,  who  had  not  then  "come  out," 
looked  upon  Louise  with  awe  and  respect. 
This  opinion,  however,  wore  away  soon  after 
Mildred  made  her  bow  to  society  at  a  debu- 
tante tea  given  for  her  by  Mrs.  Steele. 

Louise  had  married  soon  after  this  event. 
Mildred  had  been  one  of  the  bridesmaids; 
but,  not  being  particularly  sympathetic  with 
Louise,  they  had  drifted  apart. 


ii8     A  DAUGHTER  OF  THE  REVOLUTION 

Louise  had  always  impressed  Mildred  as 
cold  and  selfish;  and  as  she  now  looked  upon 
her  well-chiselled  features,  her  fine  profile 
artfully  accented  by  the  hair-dresser's  arrange- 
ment of  her  black  hair,  her  conventional  smile, 
showing  her  small  and  very  even  teeth,  and  her 
black  eyes  untouched  by  emotion  of  any  kind, 
Mildred  did  not  alter  her  opinion.  She 
thought  her,  however,  exceedingly  handsome 
but  exceedingly  unsympathetic. 

Louise  was  very  cordial — she  seldom  al- 
lowed herself  to  be  as  cordial  to  any  one 
— and  Mildred  was  responsive.  Moreover, 
Louise's  presence  brought  back  happy  mem- 
ories of  Mrs.  Steele.  Mildred's  sincere  smile 
of  pleased  recognition,  therefore,  warmed 
Louise's  cold  nature  so  much  that  she  imme- 
diately began  to  entertain  as  deep  a  friendship 
for  Mildred  as  it  was  possible  for  a  tempera- 
ment like  hers  to  cherish. 

Mildred  noticed  that  her  dress  was  of  white 
satin,  that  its  cut  was  extremely  stylish,  that  it 
fit  her  like  the  proverbial  glove,  and  that 
no  matter  which  way  she  turned  her  silhou- 
ette was  correct.  "Yes,"  Mildred  thought, 
"Louise  is  correct  in  every  detail — from  her 
coiffure  to  her  slippers.  She  is  wearing  just 


AN  EVENING  RECEPTION  119 

the  right  jewels,  she  has  just  the  right  dash  of 
the  right  perfume,  she  carries  the  right 
fan,  she  gives  you  the  latest  bow,  she  holds 
her  beautiful  figure  in  the  latest  pose.  Yes, 
Louise  is  a  very  handsome  woman  and  a  very 
stylish  one;  but  Jack  has  grown  ten  years 
older!  His  moustache  is  really  quite  gray, 
and  so  is  his  hair,  particularly  above  the  ears. 
I  wonder  if  the  Conways  are  happy!" 

All  this  Mildred  gradually  noted  while  the 
three  were  engaged  in  the  difficult  matter  of 
eating  from  plates  that  were  occasionally  jos- 
tled by  the  crush  of  people  moving  towards 
the  table,  and  by  waiters  who  were  com- 
ing from  the  table  with  delicacies  of  all 
kinds. 

"Let  us  go  over  there,"  said  Jack  Conway, 
"we  are  standing  in  the  very  worst  place,  just 
here  between  the  doors.  Let's  make  for  that 
corner!  There  are  two  chairs  over  there;  and 
you  can  both  be  seated.  Do  let  me  get  you 
something  more,  Mildred.  Will  you  have  an 
ice,  or  a  biscuit  tortoni?  Which  will  you 
have,  Louise?  Oh,  here's  Greene!  Hello, 
Gilbert!" 

"How  are  you,  Jack?  Good  evening,  Mrs. 
Conway.  Delighted  to  see  you!" 


120      A  DAUGHTER  OF  THE  REVOLUTION 

"Miss  Ashton,"  said  Jack,  "let  me  present 
Mr.  Greene." 

"Oh,  I  know  Mr.  Greene,"  said  Mildred 
cordially,  extending  her  hand  in  greeting. 

"Who  could  forget  Miss  Ashton?  'Lives 
there  on  earth  a  soul  so  dead?'  "  replied  Mr. 
Greene,  thinking  meanwhile  that  she  had  one 
of  the  most  radiant  and  captivating  smiles  he 
had  ever  beheld.  Mildred  had  developed  a 
great  deal  since  Greene  had  seen  her  at  the 
Conways'  wedding  four  years  ago.  She  had 
gained  in  poise.  He  now  admired  her  man- 
ner. His  artistic  eye  immediately  scrutinized 
the  rare  jeweled  ornament  with  which  Mil- 
dred had  clasped  the  front  of  her  low- 
necked  dress.  This  jewel,  or  cluster  of 
jewels,  consisted  of  twenty-five  large  topazes, 
each  one  set  in  a  mass  of  delicate  golden 
filagree  work.  It  was  fashioned  something 
after  the  form  of  a  cross,  with  pendants, 
each  pendant  consisting  of  a  group  of  three 
gems  and  each  gem  imbedded  by  a  golden  cob- 
web. Each  group  of  gems  was  set  in  a  larger 
golden  cobweb.  Moreover,  each  group  was 
flexible  enough  to  sway  with  the  slightest  mo- 
tion of  the  wearer.  At  the  top  was  a  particu- 
larly large  and  brilliant  topaz.  The  jewels 


AN  EVENING  RECEPTION  121 

were  perfectly  matched  in  color  and  gleamed 
like  big  drops  of  frozen  sherry  and  with  a 
liquid  light.  The  beautiful  ornament,  being 
six  inches  long,  reached  to  Mildred's  waist. 
It  was  an  heirloom  in  the  Ashton  family  and 
Mildred  only  wore  it  on  special  occasions. 

Gilbert  Greene  also  admired  Mildred's 
taste  in  dress.  She  was  wearing  this  evening 
a  canary-colored  corded  silk.  It  was  per- 
fectly plain,  without  the  slightest  trimming, 
not  even  the  addition  of  a  little  lace.  Her  one 
ornament  was  the  splendid  jewel  that  held  her 
low-necked  bodice  in  place. 

This  little  group  of  four  remained  together 
during  the  rest  of  the  evening.  Mildred 
liked  Gilbert  Greene  very  much.  In  the 
course  of  conversation  she  learned  that  he  was 
an  architect  and  that  he  had  spent  a  great  part 
of  his  life  in  Paris,  where  his  father  had  been 
consul. 

After  graduation  at  Yale,  he  had  returned 
to  Paris  to  study  at  the  Ecole  des  Beaux-Arts. 
He  had  been  in  New  York  for  about  two  years 
and  was  rapidly  attaining  eminence  in  his  pro- 
fession. He  had  built  several  charming  villas 
in  Newport,  Southampton  and  Lenox,  and  his 
taste  was  such  that  already  people  were  be- 


122      A  DAUGHTER  OF  THE  REVOLUTION 

ginning  to  talk  about  him  and  to  tell  each 
other  that  "Mr.  Greene  never  makes  a  mis- 
take." Through  his  old  college  friend,  Jack 
Conway,  a  Wall  Street  broker,  Gilbert  Greene 
had  been  quite  fortunate  in  the  investment  of 
a  little  money  that  he  had  inherited  from  his 
father. 

Artistic,  speaking  French  like  a  Parisian, 
and  gifted  with  a  charm  of  manner,  Gilbert 
Greene  had  "arrived"  at  the  early  age  of 
thirty.  Although  he  spent  much  of  his  time 
at  the  Century  Club  and  the  Player's,  he  was 
a  frequent  guest  at  the  Conways.  When  the 
friends  parted  that  evening  and  Mildred,  hav- 
ing declined  Jack  Conway's  invitation  to  let 
them  drop  her  at  her  residence,  was  about  to 
enter  her  taxi-cab,  Gilbert  Greene,  who  hap- 
pened to  come  down  the  carpeted  steps  under- 
neath the  awning  at  the  same  time,  put  her 
into  the  cab,  adding,  as  he  lifted  his  top  hat, 
"I  hope  I  shall  have  the  pleasure  of  seeing  you 
soon  at  the  Conways,  Miss  Ashton.  I  go  there 
very  often.  Good-night!" 


CHAPTER  XI 

THE  RIFT  WITHIN  THE  LUTE 

MOST  of  his  friends  envied  Jack  Con- 
way.  He  had  always  known  money 
and  a  charming  home.  Fortune  had  smiled 
upon  him  in  every  way.  After  graduation 
at  Yale,  where  he  had  met  and  formed  a 
friendship  with  Gilbert  Greene,  he  slipped 
into  his  father's  business  in  Wall  Street.  He 
soon  gave  evidence  of  a  real  gift  for  financial 
operations.  Jack  Conway  had  shown  no  par- 
ticular talent  at  college,  where  he  had  proved 
himself  a  good  all  round  average  student  and 
acquired  a  fair  reputation  in  athletics.  It 
was  not  until  he  became  a  Wall  Street  broker 
that  he  exhibited  any  marked  ability. 

Mr.  John  Conway,  senior,  delighted  with 
his  son's  rapid  success,  was,  in  a  few  years,  able 
to  realize  the  dream  of  his  life  and  retire  with 
his  wife  and  unmarried  daughter  to  his  coun- 
try home  at  Ardsley-on-the-Hudson,  leaving 
Jack  in  command  of  the  business. 


124      A  DAUGHTER  OF  THE  REVOLUTION 

Jack  Conway  was  lucky  in  his  marriage,  so 
his  friends  said  four  years  ago,  when  Miss 
Louise  Steele,  a  noted  heiress,  became  his 
bride  at  St.  Thomas's.  The  wedding  was  fine 
and  very  fashionable — Louise  always  man- 
aged things  well — and  everybody  was  there. 

Everybody  was  satisfied  that  the  two  were 
wonderfully  well-suited  and  everybody  pre- 
dicted the  most  alarming  happiness. 

Was  it  only  four  years  ago?  It  seemed  an 
age  to  Jack.  Moreover,  the  memory  of  that 
eventful  day  never  came  back  to  him  wreathed 
with  happy  thoughts.  He  knew  it  now:  he 
had  drifted  into  this  marriage  with  Louise. 
They  had  been  out  together  much;  they  had 
dined  together;  they  had  danced  together; 
they  had  been  to  theatre  parties  and  to  supper 
parties  together;  and  then,  all  of  a  sudden, 
they  became  the  chief  figures  in  a  much-talked 
of  wedding! 

Jack  could  not  have  described  in  detail  how 
it  had  all  come  about,  if  anyone  had  asked 
him.  He  remembered,  however,  very  dis- 
tinctly that  only  a  week  later  he  had  realized 
that  he  had  made  a  mistake.  He  then,  and 
very  suddenly,  found  out  that  he  was  in  for 
that  most  horrible  of  all  things — a  loveless 


THE  RIFT  WITHIN  THE  LUTE        125 

marriage.  Yes ;  he  told  himself  he  had  mar- 
ried Louise  because  she  was  handsome  and 
stylish  and  because  he  would  be  proud  to  have 
her  preside  over  his  establishment.  In  other 
words,  he  had  married  her  for  ambitious  rea- 
sons; and  now  he  was  discovering  that  mar- 
riage must  mean  something  more  than  that. 
But  in  justice  to  Jack  Conway,  it  ought  to  be 
said  that  he  had  not  as  yet  the  slightest  idea  of 
the  emotion  of  love.  He  had  passed  on  from 
one  thing  to  another  in  a  life  of  ease  and  pleas- 
ure and  no  woman  had  ever  raised  the  slight- 
est ripple  upon  his  very  quiet  pool  of  a  heart. 
The  old  proverb  "Still  waters  run  deep" 
sometimes  occurred  to  Gilbert  Greene,  when 
he  looked  at  Jack  in  wonderment,  adding  to 
himself:  "If  love  ever  does  strike  poor  old 
Jack,  it  will  go  pretty  hard  with  him." 

So  Jack,  who  had  rather  expected  Louise 
to  set  the  pace  for  the  love-making,  soon  dis- 
covered that  his  presence  bored,  rather  than 
delighted,  her;  and  he  settled  down  to  make 
the  best  of  it.  Fortunately,  his  emotional  na- 
ture was  not  disturbed;  but  he  was  conscious 
that  he  had  missed  something.  For  instance, 
he  had  vaguely  expected  when  he  returned 
home  after  a  long  day  in  Wall  Street  to  be 


A  DAUGHTER  OF  THE  REVOLUTION 

greeted,  certainly,  with  a  welcoming  smile 
and,  perhaps,  outstretched  arms.  He  found 
neither.  'At  that  hour  Louise  was  usually 
calling,  except  on  Fridays,  when  she,  herself, 
received. 

Louise,  on  the  other  hand,  was  not  in  the 
least  disappointed.  This  marriage  was  just 
what  she  had  intended  it  to  be.  Louise  had 
been  out  seven  seasons  and  did  not  care  to 
face  another  onslaught  of  debutantes.  It  was 
about  time  she  married.  She  had  refused 
several  brilliant  offers  in  her  first  two  seasons, 
and  she  felt  that  each  year  made  her  less  de- 
sirable. Looking  over  the  list  of  butterflies, 
who  were  basking  in  the  sunlight  of  her 
charms,  she  dismissed  the  fortune-hunters  and 
felt  that  Jack  Conway  was  the  best  one  to  se- 
lect. He  had  a  handsome  income  of  his  own 
and  was  a  good-looking  fellow  besides,  being 
tall  and  light  and  forming  a  good  contrast  to 
her  own  brunette  type, — all  these  were  ad- 
vantages that  Louise  balanced  up  carefully. 
Yes ;  Jack  Conway  could  have  her  hand.  She 
was  too  wise  to  give  any  one  her  fortune. 
This  was  secure.  It  had  been  well  tied  up  by 
a  very  worldly  and  calculating  mother,  who 
had  outlived  an  exceedingly  unhappy  hus- 


THE  RIFT  WITHIN  THE  LUTE        127 

band.  This  mother  had  trained  her  daughter 
to  think  of  no  one  but  herself.  Therefore, 
Louise's  marriage  was  a  piece  of  perfectly 
cold  calculation.  She  made  up  her  mind  one 
evening  after  a  dance  at  Sherry's  that  Jack 
should  marry  her;  and  Jack  did. 

Louise  gave  a  great  deal  of  thought  to  the 
wedding — a  great  deal  more  than  she  be- 
stowed upon  Jack  before,  or  after — and  the 
wedding  went  off  beautifully.  People  still 
talked  of  it!  Gilbert  Greene,  Jack's  best  man, 
looked  at  the  cold,  impassive  face  of  the  bride 
and  trembled  for  his  friend.  "This  is  not 
self-control,"  he  said  to  himself,  "this  is  in- 
difference. Such  indifference  would  kill  me! 
I'm  glad  I  am  not  the  one  to  place  the  ring  I 
have  in  my  pocket  on  her  finger." 

On  their  return  to  New  York  after  the  wed- 
ding-trip Louise  entered  her  new  Madison 
Avenue  home  as  if  she  had  lived  there  always. 
She  put  romance  into  nothing.  She  had  no 
sense  of  romance:  she  was  incapable  of  it. 
Immediately  she  organized  her  household  and 
by  the  end  of  the  first  week,  everything  was 
running  perfectly. 

Jack  Conway  had  certainly  gratified  his 
ambitions.  Louise  was  a  perfect  figure  head 


128      A  DAUGHTER  OF  THE  REVOLUTION 

and  a  perfect  fashion-plate.  Her  costumes 
were  striking;  her  dinners  delightful;  her 
service  perfect.  What  more  could  he  wish? 

Louise  had  all  she  wanted  out  of  life.  Jack 
did  not;  and  the  first  one  to  observe  this  was 
Gilbert  Greene,  who  spent  much  of  his  leisure 
at  the  Conways'. 

The  Conways  were  the  envy  of  many  peo- 
ple. They  seemed  to  have  everything  the 
world  could  give.  The  world  did  not  notice 
that  they  were  on  formal  terms,  though  pleas- 
ant ones;  for  they  appeared  much  in  society, 
gave  charming  dinners,  and  had  their  pew  at 
St.  Thomas's  and  their  box  at  the  opera. 

Jack  swirled  down  town  every  morning  in 
his  limousine  and  Louise  went  shopping  in 
hers,  wkh  Pompon,  her  little  Pekinese,  after 
her  late  breakfast  in  bed  and  long  Seances  with 
her  hair-dresser,  manicure  and  French  maid, 
Annette.  Shopping,  tailors  and  milliners  oc- 
cupied what  was  left  of  the  morning,  and 
luncheons,  card-parties  and  calls  used  up  the 
afternoons.  There  was  a  short  interval  spent 
with  Annette  in  dressing  for  dinner.  There 
were  usually  guests  to  dinner,  unless  Louise 
and  Jack  were  dining  out, — so  how  could  she 


THE  RIFT  WITHIN  THE  LUTE        129 

see  anything  of  Jack?  Now  how  could  she? 
Perfectly  impossible! 

Jack  soon  learned  not  to  care.  His  break- 
fast was  ceremoniously  served  every  morning 
at  half-past  eight.  Afterwards,  he  stepped 
into  his  limousine  and  reached  his  office  about 
ten  o'clock.  He  lunched  down  town,  and  fre- 
quently ordered  his  car  to  stop  on  the  way  up 
town  at  one  of  his  clubs  and  dashed  home  just 
in  time  to  slip  into  his  dress  suit  for  dinner. 
He  then  fell  into  any  engagements  that  Louise 
had  made  for  the  evening,  unless  he  had  made 
some  engagement  for  himself,  which  hap- 
pened rarely. 

Such  had  life  been  for  four  years  until 
Mildred  Ashton  passed  into  the  orbit  of  the 
Conways. 

On  the  whole,  the  Conway  house  was  a 
pleasant  one  to  visit.  Life  was  well-ordered 
and  made  comfortable  for  everyone;  and,  as 
Jack  and  Louise  were  both  adepts  in  the  diffi- 
cult art  of  entertaining,  delightful  guests  were 
attracted  to  their  home. 

Mildred  soon  became  a  frequent  visitor. 
It  was  a  great  relief  to  her  to  escape  from  the 
dullness  of  Mrs.  Carroll's  and  to  be  in  an 


130     A  DAUGHTER  OF  THE  REVOLUTION 

atmosphere  of  a  well-appointed  home  once 
more. 

Besides  being  fond  of  Mildred,  Louise 
found  her  useful.  She  was  always  willing 
to  accompany  her  when  Louise  desired  a 
companion.  Mildred  was  always  sweet  and 
sunny,  and  she  often  filled  in  a  dinner  very 
conveniently.  She  played  cards  well,  and 
that  suited  Louise,  who  was  devoted  to  auc- 
tion-bridge. Moreover,  Mildred  was  unusu- 
ally obliging  about  her  music.  She  not  only 
could  play  beautifully,  but  she  was  willing  to 
play  for  people  as  long  as  they  cared  to  listen; 
and,  still  more  wonderful  to  relate,  she  was 
willing  to  play  dance  music.  As  she  loved  to 
dance  herself,  she  did  this  well. 

Louise  was  very  fond  of  Mildred's  playing; 
and  soon  after  she  met  her  at  Mrs.  Henry's,  it 
was  arranged  that  Mildred  should  come  and 
practice  whenever  she  pleased.  It  also  soon 
became  expected  that  Mildred  would  dine  on 
opera  nights;  and  she  had  her  regular  seat  in 
the  Conway  box. 

Louise  and  Mildred  presented  a  wonderful 
contrast:  the  one  so  artificial  and  cold;  the 
other,  so  natural,  spontaneous  and  warm- 
hearted. 


THE  RIFT  WITHIN  THE  LUTE        131 

Jack  Conway  began  to  appreciate  this  very 
early. 

Nothing  gave  him  so  much  pleasure  as  to 
hear  Mildred  play.  Suddenly  Jack  Conway 
opened  another  facet  of  his  mind  (as  he  had 
done  in  business)  and  awoke  to  the  pleasure 
of  art.  Jack  had  never  cared  for  music;  and 
he  had  always  abominated  the  piano.  Mil- 
dred's touch  changed  his  attitude  towards  it. 
She  brought  to  it  something  so  bright,  so 
soothing,  so  beautiful,  so  glowing  and  so  deli- 
cate that  it  seemed  to  Jack  as  if  the  instrument 
were  a  medium  for  the  expression  of  the  poetry 
within  her.  To  say  that  Mildred  played  the 
piano  would  be  altogether  misleading.  To 
say  the  piano  enabled  Mildred  to  play  her- 
self, would  be  more  like  it.  She  had  a 
marvellous  natural  touch  and  much  tech- 
nique. She  played  in  the  modern  Polish 
school  and  the  notes  seemed  to  drip  from  her 
slender  fingers  like  showers  of  opalescent 
pearls.  Jack  soon  learned  to  love  her  Chopin 
and  Debussy  and  the  way  she  played  some  of 
the  songs  of  Schubert,  Schumann  and  Robert 
Franz,  which  she  had  transcribed  herself ;  but, 
most  of  all,  he  loved  to  hear  her  take  a  Wag- 
ner score  and  play  long  excerpts  from  the 


132      A  DAUGHTER  OF  THE  REVOLUTION 

Meistersinger,  Tristan,  Parsifal,  or  the  Ring. 
She  often  gave  the  hearer  a  suggestion  of  the 
instrumentation. 

Jack  Conway  soon  found  that  by  familiar- 
ity with  these  works  his  enjoyment  of  the  great 
music-dramas  was  greatly  increased;  and  he 
seriously  asked  Mildred  if  she  wouldn't  con- 
sider him  as  a  pupil — just  to  play  to  him  and 
analyze  the  scores.  Louise  thought  it  a  splen- 
did idea.  The  fact  was  Louise  languidly  ad- 
mitted to  herself  that  Jack  bored  her  and  it 
was  a  convenient  way  to  get  rid  of  Jack  for  an 
hour  or  two.  Moreover,  this  arrangement 
left  her  free  to  entertain  guests  and  revel  in 
their  flatteries,  which  meant  so  much  to  her. 


CHAPTER  XII 

A  LITTLE  DINNER  PARTY 

FRANCOIS,  the  Conways'  butler,  hated 
Mondays,  Wednesdays  and  Fridays. 
These  three  "opera  nights"  usually  spoiled 
dinner.  There  was  apt  to  be  more  or  less  of 
a  rush;  and  the  result  was  that  some  of  the 
choice  dishes  were  carried  away  unappreci- 
ated. Sometimes,  indeed,  whole  courses  were 
omitted. 

As  he  handed  a  beautifully  decorated  fruit- 
salad  to  Mr.  De  Witt,  who  was  seated  at  Mrs. 
Conway's  right,  Frangois,  chancing  to  glance 
across  the  round  table,  read  with  alarm  the 
dawning  symptoms  of  restlessness  in  the  host's 
face. 

Frangois  had  a  rose-colored  dinner  this 
evening.  The  large,  low  silver  basket  in  the 
centre  of  the  table  was  filled  with  pink  roses, 
loosely  arranged;  the  shades  on  the  two  can- 
delabra, on  either  side  of  the  basket,  falling 
in  cascades  of  crystal  girandoles,  were  pink; 

133 


134     A  DAUGHTER  OF  THE  REVOLUTION 

and  the  bon-bons  in  the  four  little  silver  bas- 
kets, symmetrically  arranged  around  the  three 
larger  pieces,  were  also  pink.  The  ices  were 
to  be  pink  roses;  the  petits  fours  were  orna- 
mented with  pink  icing;  and  Francois  had  se- 
lected the  pink  Limoges  china  decorated 
with  pink  and  purple  orchids  for  the  lighter 
courses. 

Mrs.  Conway,  accommodating  herself  to 
the  scheme  of  color,  appeared  in  her  rose-col- 
ored satin,  very  becoming  to  her  dark  eyes  and 
black  hair,  dressed,  as  usual,  in  the  latest 
style. 

Mildred  Ashton,  the  one  other  woman  at 
the  table,  had  brought  her  white  lace  dress 
into  harmony  with  the  decorations  by  pinning 
on  her  left  shoulder  a  large  and  perfect  pink 
rose  that  she  had  taken  from  a  vase  in  the 
drawing-room  while  waiting  for  the  arrival  of 
the  other  guests,  responding  to  her  hostess's 
"You  haven't  got  it  in  the  right  place,"  by  "I 
don't  care.  I  don't  intend  to  spoil  the  rose. 
It  won't  get  crushed  where  it  is."  The  grate- 
ful rose  soon  fell  into  a  most  graceful  posi- 
tion and  accented  the  whiteness  of  Mildred's 
neck.  It  attracted  the  attention  of  both  Mr. 
Philip  De  Witt  and  Mr.  Gilbert  Greene,  who 


A  LITTLE  DINNER  PARTY  135 

arrived  simultaneously.  Frangois  approved 
of  these  guests.  He  had  never  known  them 
to  be  late. 

After  bowing  formally  to  the  tall,  slim  and 
dark  man  with  a  Van  Dyke  beard,  who  was 
introduced  to  her,  Mildred  turned  to  greet 
more  cordially  Mr.  Gilbert  Greene,  whom 
she  had  seen  so  often  at  the  Conways  since 
their  meeting  at  Mrs.  Henry's,  two  months 
ago. 

Dinner,  ordered  earlier  than  usual  on  ac- 
count of  the  opera,  had  been  in  progress  some 
time  when  Gilbert  Greene  asked  suddenly: 
"By  the  way,  what's  the  opera  to-night?" 

"Tristan,"  answered  Jack,  quickly,  "won- 
derful Tristan!" 

"Yes,"  exclaimed  Louise,  "Tristan,  that 
long-winded  Tristan.  I  am  only  going  be- 
cause it  is  Selma's  premiere  and  because  it's  a 
gala  night" 

"I'll  take  you  anywhere  you  please,  Mrs. 
Conway,"  broke  in  Philip  De  Witt,  "if  you 
don't  want  to  go  to  the  opera." 

"I  do  want  to  go  to  the  opera,  but  I  don't 
want  to  go  to  Tristan,  Mr.  De  Witt,"  Louise 
replied. 

"I  don't  see  how  you  can  get  one  without 


I3'6     A  DAUGHTER  OF  THE  REVOLUTION 

the  other  to-night,  Mrs.  Conway,"  said  Gil- 
bert Greene.  "But  I  tell  you  what  we'll  do. 
We'll  all  go,  to-morrow,  to  the  liveliest  show 
we  can  find,  to  offset  it,  if  you  like — my  enter- 
tainment. You're  all  invited!" 

"I'll  head  the  list,"  said  Mildred. 

"What  sticks  me,"  Greene  went  on,  "is  the 
German  prima- donna.  I  confess  my  illusions 
are  all  gone  when  a  perfect  mountain  of 
woman,  all  draped  in  white,  and  wearing 
shiny  metal  armor,  hand  cuffs  and  a  helmet — 
for  all  the  world  like  a  brand  new  parlor  stove 
— stands  up  in  a  scene  to  inspire  love  and  ro- 
mance! Those  stiff  artificial  attitudes!  It  is 
all  so  mechanical,  so  uninspired!  Every  thing 
measured  off.  A  certain  musical  phrase  gets 
her  on  the  other  side  of  the  stage,  to  sit  on  a 
rock,  to  stand  under  a  tree,  to  pick  up  her 
shield,  or  to  clutch  a  horse's  mane,  or  tail. 
Then,  when  the  stage  is  thick  with  ishes  and 
hochs  and  eins  and  deins  and  meins  and 
seins — " 

"And  whines?"  suggested  Mildred. 

"Yes;  and  whines,  she  violently  grabs  her 
draperies  and  holds  them  out  in  such  a  way 
that  the  wind  will  catch  them  and  then  she 
strides  across  the  stage,  or  races  up  a  rock, 


A  LITTLE  DINNER  PARTY  13? 

with  an  air-filled  mantle.  No ;  I  cannot  stand 
the  German  prima- donna.  I  suppose  you 
think  that  is  rank  heresy,  Miss  Ashton,  and 
that  I  am  a  musical  pariah." 

"Not  at  all,"  replied  Mildred,  sipping  her 
sauterne,  "I  agree  with  you.  There  are  some 
things  that  are  a  little  too  Teu— 

"Go  on,"  interrupted  Greene,  laughing, 
"too,  too,  too,  too — " 

"Teutonic,"  said  Mildred,  in  a  reproachful 
tone,  "for  my  taste.  You  have  to  shut  your 
eyes  sometimes  and  just  listen  to  the  music." 

"Fancy  that!  Oh,  what  an  argument  I" 
laughed  Greene,  pleasantly.  "Oh,  Miss  Ash- 
ton,  can't  you  do  better  than  that?" 

"Yes ;  I  will  make  a  great  concession." 

"Thank  you!    What  is  it?" 

"I  consider  Don  Giovanni  the  most  won- 
derful of  all  operas.  Old  von  Biilow  said  it 
was  the  opera  of  the  future.  I  agree  with 
him.  There,  will  that  satisfy  you?" 

"Partly.  There's  hope  for  you.  I  am  be- 
ginning to  feel  encouraged  with  regard  to 
your  musical  future.  Now,  if  you  will  only 
say  that  you  like  A'ida— 

"I  adore  A'ida,"  broke  in  Mildred,  quickly 
and  emphatically. 


i38     A  DAUGHTER  OF  THE  REVOLUTION 

"Hooray!"  cried  Greene.  "You  are  not 
half  as  bad  as  I  thought  you  were!" 

"I  suppose  you  will  offer  me  your  hand 
in  marriage,  Mr.  Greene,  if  I  tell  you  that  I 
had  one  of  the  most  delightful  of  my 
many  operatic  experiences  last  week  at  Ma- 
non." 

"Massenet's,  or  Puccini's?" 

"Oh,  Massenet's,  of  course." 

"You  shall  have  both  my  hands,  Miss  Ash- 
ton,  and  everything  they  can  grab  for  you  in 
the  round  world.  Go  on." 

"Well,"  continued  Mildred,  "I  think 
Manon  is  a  gem.  The  score  is  ideal:  so  full 
of  lovely  melodies,  deliciously  harmonized; 
melodies  that  seem  to  sing  out  spontaneously 
from  'cello  and  violin;  melodies  that  do  not 
puzzle  the  brain,  but  tempt  the  senses  to  de- 
lightful dreams." 

"Hear  that  from  a  'Perfect  WagneriteM" 
exclaimed  Greene.  "Didn't  you  like  the 
scenes?" 

"Rather!"  replied  Mildred.  "They  re- 
minded me  of  fan-mounts  by  Watteau,  Leloir, 
Pater  and  Boucher.  Weren't  they  lovely? 
That  of  the  inn,  for  example,  surrounded  by 
bright  hollyhocks,  with  glimpses  of  a  pretty 


A  LITTLE  DINNER  PARTY  139 

landscape  in  the  distance,  dotted  with  figures, 
and  the  merry  party  seen  dining  at  the  win- 
dow." 

"Yes,"  replied  Greene,  "and  that  old  stage- 
coach dashing  up  to  the  inn,  laden  with  lug- 
gage and  boxes;  Manon  jumping  out;  and  the 
old  coach  dashing  off  again.  Awfully  good 
picture!" 

"Yes,"  continued  Mildred,  "and  the  vil- 
lage-green with  its  holiday-makers  in  the 
third  act,  with  the  rustic  clowns ;  the  vendors 
under  the  trees;  the  large-hatted  and  gar- 
landed youths  and  maidens  dancing  gavottes 
and  minuets;  Manon,  all  patched  and  pow- 
dered, arriving  in  a  sedan  chair— 

"Lovely  French  pictures,"  cried  Greene, 
"Salut  a  la  France!  Oh,  France  comme  je 
t'adore!" 

"And  didn't  Alouetta  sing  that  gavotte 
beautifully?"  Jack  observed. 

"Beeyoutifully!"  Greene  sung  out. 

"Oh,  I  loved  that,  too,"  cried  Louise,  "I 
always  love  Alouetta.  I  agree  with  you, 
Mr.  Greene.  I  hate  those  fat  German  fraus. 
Mildred  said  something  good  the  other 
day—" 

"Thank  you  I"  Mildred  interrupted  quickly. 


140     A  DAUGHTER  OF  THE  REVOLUTION 

"She  said,"  continued  Louise,  "that  Ma- 
'dame  Pumpernickel-Holstein,  the  new  Briinn- 
hilde  you  know,  has  an  organ  and  she  pulls  out 
all  the  stops  at  once." 

"How  beautifully  Serinsky  sang  'En  fer- 
mant  les  yeux  je  vois  la-bast'"  Greene  went 
on.  "It  was  just  luscious!  Heavenly!" 

"And  don't  forget  Moreau,"  pleaded  Mil- 
dred, "the  dashing  soldier.  Didn't  he  show 
how  great  a  small  part  may  become  in  the 
hands  of  a  rare  artist?" 

"I  am  always  dead  stuck  on  Moreau's  cos- 
tumes," said  Greene.  "I  wish  to  heaven  he'd 
dress  me!  I'm  going  to  get  a  suit  like 
his  last  one  in  Manon.  Do  you  remember  it? 
White  cloth  with  orange  velvet  collar  and 
cuffs.  Stunning!" 

"Where  are  you  going  to  wear  it?"  asked 
Mildred.  "At  the  Century  Club?" 

At  this  moment  Jack  drew  his  fob  from  his 
pocket  and  looked  at  his  watch. 

"There!"  said  Louise.  "Jack's  restless,  and 
there  are  several  courses  to  come.  Don't  let 
him  spoil  your  dinner,  Mr.  Greene.  Mr.  De 
Witt  is  charmingly  unconcerned." 

Mr.  De  Witt  smiled  appreciatively. 

".Yes,"  said  Jack,  "I  am  getting  restless.    It 


A  LITTLE  DINNER  PARTY  141 

is  half-past  seven  and  Tristan  begins  promptly 
at  eight,  promptly.  It's  a  long  opera.  I 
wouldn't  miss  the  Prelude  for  anything." 
Then,  turning  to  Mildred,  "Mildred,  let  us 
excuse  ourselves  and  go.  The  limousine  can 
come  back  for  these  gourmets.  They  don't 
care  what  they  miss,  or  what  they  see.  All 
they  want  is  a  knife,  a  fork  and  a  wine- 
glass." 

"And  a  plate,  please,"  added  Greene. 

"Yes,  I'll  be  delighted  to  go,"  Mildred 
responded.  "I  have  been  worrying  about 
missing  that  Prelude  for  the  last  ten  minutes. 
Excuse  me,  Louise,  will  you?" 

Jack  rose.  "Greene,  will  you  join  us?  I 
see  that  De  Witt  is  a  fixture." 

"No,  thank  you,"  said  Greene.  "Go  and 
enjoy  yourselves." 

Broadway,  bright  as  day,  was  so  congested 
with  people  and  carriages  that  when  the  Con- 
way  limousine  came  within  sight  of  the  Opera 
House  the  chauffeur  was  compelled  to  fall 
into  line  two  blocks  above  the  entrance.  The 
street  was  a  surging  sea  of  people  that  blocked 
the  automobiles  and  cars. 

"I'm  glad  we  came  away;  we  haven't  any 
time  to  spare,"  said  Jack,  "I  hope  we  sha'n't 


14*      A  DAUGHTER  OF  THE  REVOLUTION 

have  to  stay  here  much  longer.  There!  we 
move  at  last!" 

Passing  into  the  Opera  House,  they  found 
the  foyer  packed.  It  was  difficult  to  get 
through  the  gate. 

"I  am  always  thrilled  when  I  come  into  this 
house,"  said  Mildred,  as  they  walked  up  the 
red  velvet  stairway.  "Just  listen  to  that''  she 
added,  as  a  boy  went  by  with  an  armful  of 
libretti,  calling  "Ahpra  Book,  Ahpra  Book, 
Ahpra  Book!  Book  for  the  Ahpra!  Ahpra 
Book!" 

"Don't  you  love  that?"  she  asked.  "He 
seems  to  promise  such  delight." 

"I  do,"  replied  Jack. 

"Don't  you  love  our  dear,  old  New  York, 
anyway?  Don't  you  love  all  this?"  and  Mil- 
dred laid  her  hand  on  his  arm  in  her  enthu- 
siasm, as  she  seemed  to  take  the  whole  scene 
into  her  all  embracing  glance. 

"Yes;  especially  that  gentleman  over  there." 

"Don't  be  silly,"  said  Mildred,  as  she  fol- 
lowed Jack's  glance,  which  directed  hers  to  a 
short,  stout,  hook-nosed  man  with  a  fat  paunch 
and  a  huge  diamond  blazing  in  the  centre  of 
his  expansive  shirt  front,  evidently  a  theatri- 
cal manager,  who  was  standing  at  the  top  of 


143 

the  stairway,  to  stare  at  the  women  ascending 
in  their  handsome  opera  cloaks. 

On  entering  the  Conway  box  Jack  lifted 
Mildred's  cloak  from  her  shoulders  and  hung 
it  up,  hung  up  his  own  fur-lined  overcoat, 
took  a  quick  glance  in  the  small  mirror  to  see 
if  his  hair  and  tie  were"  all  right  and  then  drew 
the  red  curtains  for  Mildred  to  pass  through. 
"Let  us  leave  the  front  seats  for  the  others," 
she  said,  seating  herself  in  one  of  the  chairs 
at  the  back,  "we  want  to  follow  the  score." 

Jack  took  the  chair  next  to  hers  and  placed 
the  piano  score  on  her  lap. 

"Now  we  are  comfortably  settled,"  he  said, 
"and  ready  for  the  fray.  Look!  the  boxes  are 
nearly  all  filled!" 


CHAPTER  XIII 

AT  THE  OPERA 

THOSE  who  say  that  New  Yorkers  are  not 
cultivated  in  music  should  see  the  Met- 
ropolitan Opera  House  on  a  Wagner  night. 
For  most  other  operas  the  occupants  of  the 
boxes  and  the  parquet  straggle  in  as  they 
please ;  but  a  Wagner  night  creates  an  amazing 
unanimity  of  promptness.  The  seats  are 
nearly  all  filled  before  the  conductor  makes 
his  appearance;  and  the  unfortunate  late  com- 
ers, who  enter  after  the  house  is  darkened  and 
who  push  past  those  who  are  already  seated 
and  lost  in  the  performance,  are  not  welcomed 
with  the  kindest  of  glances,  nor  the  sweetest 
of  feelings.  Silence  is  enforced;  and  any  one 
who  speaks  above  a  whisper,  or  who  whispers 
frequently,  is  in  danger  of  sharp  rebuke. 

The  boxes  were  filling  rapidly.  Faces  fa- 
miliar for  years  behind  the  large,  red  velvet 
horseshoe  were  already  to  be  seen;  beautiful 
costumes  were  grouping  themselves  here  and 

144 


AT  THE  OPERA  145 

there,  forming  charming  studies  in  color; 
jewels  were  sparkling;  fans  were  waving;  per- 
fumes rilled  the  tropical  air;  black-coated  but- 
terflies flitted  about;  ushers  conducted  peo- 
ple to  their  seats  in  the  parquet,  dress-circle 
and  balcony;  in  the  upper  galleries  women 
and  girls  took  off  their  hats  and  coats, 
revealing  brighter  hues  than  they  exhibited 
on  their  arrival ;  and,  all  the  while,  the  liveried 
boys  moved  about  the  aisles  and  corridors 
calling  "Ahpra  Book!  Book  for  the  Ahpra! 
Ahpra  Book!  Ahpra  Book!  Ahpra  Book! 
Ahpra  Book!" 

Then  the  glimmering  lights  beneath  the 
green  shades  of  the  orchestra  glow  brighter 
and  the  musicians  begin  to  enter,  one  by  one, 
up  through  the  little  steps  below  the  centre 
of  the  stage.  They  take  their  places. 

Now  appears  a  striking  figure:  quiet,  dig- 
nified, impressive,  as  if  he  were  going  to  con- 
duct a  church  service  rather  than  an  orchestra. 
It  is  the  magnetic  Tosky!  He  is  greeted  with 
a  tornado  of  applause. 

"I  never  see  Tosky  come  in  without  ex- 
periencing a  sort  of  thrill,"  said  Mildred. 
"He  enters  with  such  a  quiet  solemnity  and 
brings  with  him  a  curious  quality  of  enchant- 


146      A  DAUGHTER  OF  THE  REVOLUTION 

ment  that  seems  to  envelop  the  entire  orches- 
tra. He  makes  it,  indeed,  a  'mystic  abyss'  of 
tone." 

"Yes,  he  has  a  wonderful  personality,"  Jack 
acquiesced.  "I  hear  that  they  don't  have 
many  rehearsals.  All  he  has  to  do  is  to  wave 
that  wand  of  his  and  the  men  play  as  if  they 
were  on  fire." 

"See  how  calm  he  looks,"  said  Mildred. 
"Notwithstanding  his  unconventional  hair,  I 
think  he  is  exceptionally  handsome." 

"Women  seem  to  think  so,"  said  Jack,  "but 
then  they  always  go  into  raptures  over  musi- 


cians." 


"Men  admire  Tosky,  too,"  Mildred  replied. 
"I  know  lots  of  men— 

"Tosky  won't  begin,"  Jack  interrupted,  "un- 
til there  is  absolute  silence  throughout  the 
house,  from  that  sea  of  people  in  the  top  gal- 
lery to  the  people  in  the  front  rows  just  be- 
hind him.  Look  at  him  now!" 

Tosky,  standing  like  a  statue  on  his  raised 
platform,  was  looking  up  and  down  and  round 
and  round.  Gradually  the  hum  of  voices 
ceased:  the  attention  of  the  multitude  had 
become  magnetized  by  the  little  black  figure 
at  the  conductor's  desk.  Once  again  he 


AT  THE  OPERA  147 

looked  up  and  down  and  round  and  round; 
for  Tosky  approached  a  Wagnerian  perform- 
ance in  something  like  a  religious  mood.  Si- 
lence must  be  absolute. 

Jack  turned  the  leaf  of  the  score.  It  crack- 
led. Tosky  looked  up :  his  quick  ear  had  in- 
stantly located  the  sound  in  the  Conway  box. 

Now  the  silence  was  absolute.  You  could 
have  heard  a  feather  drop.  The  house  was 
not  only  still,  but  reverent. 

Now  then:  "tap,  tap,  tap,"  goes  Tosky's 
baton  on  the  desk.  The  lights  are  turned  very 
low;  the  house  becomes  mysterious  in  the 
darkness  and  quietness;  and  an  electric  cur- 
rent seems  to  run  through  the  entire  orchestra. 
Each  man  is  held  as  if  by  magic  under  the 
spell  of  Tosky's  long,  white  stick. 

He  looks  at  the  violoncellos.  Deep,  deep, 
deep  they  begin  the  sad  wail  of  the  Confession 
of  Love,  very  softly,  then  increasing  in  tone 
and  as  if  the  phrase  were  being  dug  out  of  a 
bottomless  pit.  It  is  followed  by  the  melan- 
choly Desire,  sung  by  the  oboes,  clarinets,  cor 
anglais  and  bassoons,  with  an  affecting  ac- 
cent and  completing  the  harmonic  idea  of  the 
Confession  of  Love.  This  musical  phrase 
dies  away  in  a  painful  longing  that  seems  to 


I48      A  DAUGHTER  OF  THE  REVOLUTION 

be  also  interrogating  fate.  Then  comes  an 
impressive  rest.  These  phrases  are  repeated; 
and  Tosky  emphasizes  them  more  each  time. 
He  seems  to  dig  deeper  and  deeper  into  the 
orchestral  abyss  and  requires  accents  that  are 
still  more  poignant.  Again  the  impressive 
pause.  Twice  more — four  times  in  all — the 
Confession  of  Love  and  Desire  are  repeated, 
with  the  long,  solemn  pauses  between,  each 
time  deeper,  more  passionate  and  more  sor- 
rowful,— climax  upon  climax! 

Then  the  'cello  announces  The  Glance. 
This  is  followed  by  the  Love  Philtre  and  the 
Death  Potion;  the  violas  and  oboes  tell  of  the 
Magic  Casket;  and  then,  following  a  superb, 
sweeping  crescendo,  the  violins  announce  the 
Deliverance  by  Death. 

Tosky's  magic  baton  seems  to  elucidate  all 
the  woven  web  of  music  for  the  listener;  to 
unravel  its  tangled  mystery;  and  to  lift  mo- 
tive after  motive  into  prominence.  The  poign- 
ant accents  of  love  and  longing  and  the  dark 
notes  of  death  and  fate  cross  one  another  like 
the  light  and  shadow  of  a  summer's  day.  At 
last  the  Confession  of  Love  becomes  espe- 
cially prominent,  only  to  die  away  distress- 
fully upon  the  woodwind, 


AT  THE  OPERA  149 

rAs  the  curtain  opens  upon  the  scene  of  the 
deck  of  the  ship  that  is  bearing  Isolde  to 
Cornwall  to  be  the  unwilling  bride  of  King 
Mark,  Mildred  takes  a  quick  look  at  the  re- 
clining and  unhappy  Isolde  who  hears  the 
song  of  the  sailor  on  the  mast.  Then  she  glues 
her  eyes  to  the  score  for  a  time.  She  looks 
up  again  at  Isolde  in  her  magnificent  out- 
burst of  anger,  calling  for  storms  to  rise  from 
the  calm  sea  to  engulf  the  ship;  she  looks  up 
again  when  Isolde  bids  Brangane  bring  the 
Magic  Casket  and  selects  a  Death  Potion, 
which  she  intends  to  make  Tristan  drink  with 
her;  and  she  looks  up  again  when  the  wood- 
wind and  strings  announce  Tristan  the  Hero. 
Now  she  ignores  the  score  for  a  while,  watch- 
ing with  interest  the  great  scene  of  the  drink- 
ing of  the  Love  Potion,  which  Brangane  has 
substituted  for  the  poison.  Then  she  looks  at 
the  pages  again,  noting  how  beautifully  the 
Confession  of  Love  and  Desire  are  scored  for 
the  violoncellos  and  woodwind  and  how  The 
Glance,  on  viola  and  'cello,  grows  more  and 
more  expressive  and  intense  as  the  eyes  of  the 
lovers  meet  and  tell  one  another  their  mutual 
fascination. 

Jack  Conway  has  not  yet  arrived  at  such 


150     A  DAUGHTER  OF  THE  REVOLUTION 

experienced  and  systematic  division  of  inter- 
est between  the  stage  and  the  score.  He 
looks  now  at  the  stage,  now  at  the  score  and 
more  than  either  at  Mildred's  bright  eyes  that 
are  absorbing  the  stage  pictures,  or  at  her 
heavy  lids  that  veil  these  eyes  when  intent 
upon  the  pages. 

Long  as  this  act  is,  it  seems  short  to  these 
enthusiastic  amateurs.  It  is  drawing  to  a 
close.  The  ship  has  arrived  at  Cornwall;  the 
sailors  are  busy  with  the  ropes;  King  Mark 
comes  on  board  to  welcome  his  bride;  and 
Isolde,  dazed  with  rapture,  faints  in  Tristan's 
arms.  The  curtain  closes  to  a  last  sad  wail 
of  Desire  from  the  orchestra. 

"Tosky  doesn't  play  notes,"  Mildred  ob- 
served. "He  plays  streams  of  melody.  The 
notes  simply  melt  into  one  another." 

The  gigantic  audience — equal  to  the  entire 
population  of  a  small  town — which  has  over- 
flowed into  the  aisles  and  corridors  and  which 
has  been  silent  and  motionless  throughout  the 
entire  act,  burst  into  wild  applause.  The 
house  rang  with  cries  of  "Bravo!"  and 
"Brava!"  and  Selma  and  Serinsky  were  re- 
called and  recalled. 

As  the  lights  came  up  Mildred  sighed  heav- 


AT  THE  OPERA  151 

ily  and  Jack  looked  into  her  face  with  a  long 
steady  gaze.  Then  suddenly  Mildred  started, 
realizing  for  the  first  time  that  they  were 
alone. 

"I  wonder  why  the  others  haven't  come?" 
she  exclaimed. 

"Shall  I  telephone  t6the  house  and  see  what 
is  the  matter?" 

''Suppose  you  do." 

"All  right!     I'll  be  back  in  a  few  minutes." 

As  Jack  was  stepping  out  of  the  box,  a  man 
unknown  to  him,  said:  "May  I  call  on  Miss 
Ashton?" 

"Certainly,"  Jack  responded,  holding  the 
door  open  while  the  stranger  passed  through. 

Mildred,  hearing  a  step,  turned  her  head. 
"Why,  how  do  you  do,  Mr.  Clapp." 

"How  do  you  do,  Miss  Ashton,"  said 
Clapp,  taking  the  hand  she  so  cordially  of- 
fered. "How  are  you  enjoying  the  opera?" 

"Immensely,"  replied  Mildred. 

"I  saw  you  when  you  first  came  in,"  said 
Clapp.  "I  am  sitting  in  the  parquet,  six  rows 
from  the  front,  over  there  on  the  other  side 
of  the  house.  I  came  with  Mr.  Huneker. 
He  is  a  crank  over  this  opera.  He  says  Selma 
is  the  best  Isolde  since  Lilli  Lehmann." 


152      A  DAUGHTER  OF  THE  REVOLUTION 

"What  does  Mr.  Huneker  think  of  Serin- 
sky?"  Mildred  asked,  eagerly. 

"He  likes  him  very  much.  He  has  been 
comparing  him  with  Niemann  and  Alvary; 
but  what  he  says  is  beyond  me.  I  never  saw 
Tristan  and  Isolde  before.  Did  you?" 

"Oh,  many,  many  times,"  answered  Mil- 
dred. "I  couldn't  count  the  times.  And 
each  time  it  strikes  me  as  more  wonderful  and 
more  beautiful  than  the  last." 

"It's  altogether  beyond  me,  Miss  Ashton," 
replied  Clapp.  "I'm  not  a  musical  sharp  like 
Huneker  and  you,  you  know.  I  hope  you 
haven't  forgotten  that  you  promised  to  go  to 
the  theatre  one  night  with  me." 

At  this  moment,  Jack  entered. 

"Mr.  Conway,"  said  Mildred,  "let  me  in- 
troduce Mr.  Clapp." 

Clapp  bowed.  "I  must  be  off,"  he  said, 
noting  the  general  movement  of  the  men  all 
over  the  house  to  return  to  their  seats. 

"Won't  you  stay  with  us?"  said  Jack,  de- 
voutly hoping  that  he  wouldn't. 

"No,  thank  you,"  said  Clapp.  "I'm  with 
a  friend.  Good  night,  Miss  Ashton.  Good 
night,  Mr.  Conway." 

Jack,  taking  his  seat  beside  Mildred,  said: 


AT  THE  OPERA  153 

"I  got  Frangois  and  he  says  they  have 
gone.  I  suppose  they  will  all  come  piling  in 
here  and  disturbing  us  in  the  middle  of  the 
act.  Think  of  missing  all  this!" 

"Well,"  laughed  Mildred,  "we've  enjoyed 
it  enough  for  all  three  of  them,  as  well  as  for 
ourselves." 

"I  know  7  have,"  said  Jack,  emphatically, 
thrilled  with  her  use  of  the  word  ourselves. 

"Hush,"  whispered  Mildred  as  the  lights 
dropped. 

The  hum  and  chatter  cease.  Tosky  looks  up 
and  down  and  round  and  round  through  the 
silent  darkness.  Then  he  faces  his  orchestra. 
Attention!  "Tap,  tap,  tap"  goes  his  long, 
white  baton  against  the  stand.  Tosky  looks  at 
the  woodwind;  and  the  woodwind  announce 
Day,  that  motive  which  recurs  during  this 
act  in  so  many  forms.  It  is  now  accom- 
panied with  a  tremolo  on  the  string-quar- 
tet; then  the  'cello  speaks  of  Impatience, 
accompanied  by  broken  triplets  on  the  violin, 
which  impart  a  feeling  of  restlessness;  the  old 
wail  of  Desire  also  returns,  and  again  and 
again.  Finally,  all  these  melodies  die  away; 
sounds  of  distant  hunting-horns  are  heard;  and 
the  curtain  opens  on  a  moonlit  garden.  The 


154      A  DAUGHTER  OF  THE  REVOLUTION 

horns  grow  fainter  and  fainter,  and  at  last  die 
away. 

Brangane,  standing  on  the  steps  of  the 
watch-tower,  is  listening  to  these  dying  echoes 
of  King  Mark's  hunting-party.  Isolde  en- 
ters in  great  excitement. 

How  beautifully  the  clarinets  and  muted 
violins  describe  the  weaving  of  the  leaves,  the 
murmur  of  the  stream  and  all  the  sweet  voices 
of  this  deliriously  lovely  summer  night! 

To  a  rushing  chromatic  scale,  Isolde  extin- 
guishes the  burning  torch  at  the  side  of  the 
broad  steps.  It  is  Tristan's  signal!  Now 
Isolde  waves  her  scarf  to  eager  rhythms  from 
the  woodwind.  Passionate  Transport  and 
Ardor,  excitedly  given  out  from  the  orches- 
tra, describe  the  feelings  of  the  lovers,  who 
rush  into  one  another's  arms,  rapturously  sing- 
ing: 

"B'ist  du  mein? 
Hab'  ich  dich  wteder?" 

And  the  orchestra,  partaking  of  their  rap- 
ture, gives  a  symphonic  web  of  former  mo- 
tives. 

"O  cruel  Day  that  has  separated  us!  O  benignant 
Night  that  brings  us  together!" 


AT  THE  OPERA  155 

Night,  intoxicating  Night,  weaves  her  spell 
around  the  lovers!  Tristan  leads  Isolde  to 
a  flowery  bank  caressed  by  the  moonlight. 
She  reclines  gracefully  upon  it;  and  Tristan 
falls  on  his  knees  beside  her,  softly  singing: 

"O  sink'  hernieder 
Nacht  der  Liebe." 

Isolde  joins  in 

"O  Night  of  Rapture, 
Rest  upon  us." 

Gentle  sighs  from  the  woodwind;  synco- 
pated chords  from  the  muted  strings;  and 
mysterious  sweeps  from  the  harp  create  a 
poetic  atmosphere.  The  orchestra  seems 
flooded  with  moonlight  and  with  Love! 

"I  think  this  is  so  beautiful,"  whispered 
Mildred,  half-closing  her  eyes  to  listen  to  the 
exquisite  melody  of  Felicity,  which  the  vio- 
lins and  violas  begin  to  weave  in  softest  tones 
to  the  delicious  bass  furnished  by  the  violon- 
cello. 

What  wonder  that  the  lovers  should  call 
upon  death  to  unite  them  in  this  supreme  mo- 
ment! 

Mildred,  pointing  with  her  gloved  finger 


156      A  DAUGHTER  OF  THE  REVOLUTION 

here  and  there  to  some  exquisite  harmony,  or 
graceful  phrase,  that  she  wanted  Jack  to  no- 
tice, intensified  his  enjoyment  already  so  keen. 
He  was  beginning  to  read  the  score  with  un- 
derstanding and  had  all  the  enthusiasm  of  a 
neophyte. 

The  Death-Song  now  grows  more  passion- 
ate.  The  two  voices  mingle  and  blend  into  one. 

"Yes;  from  this  perfect  night  there  should  be  no  awak- 


ening 


"Yes ;  let  us  die,  while  heart  to  heart  and  lip  to  lip !" 

Now  Brangane  rushes  upon  the  scene  to 
'warn  Isolde.  Kurwenal  also  comes,  sword  in 
hand,  to  save  Tristan.  The  hunting-horns  of 
King  Mark  are  heard  approaching  through 
the  woven  web  of  Felicity,  Death,  the  Death 
Potion  and  Day;  and  then  Isolde's  tender 
voice  is  supported  by  the  Passionate  Trans- 
port. 

"Oh,  what  instrumentation,"  Mildred  mur- 
murs. 

"Wonderful!"  whispers  Jack,  in  response, 
his  eyes  glued  to  the  score. 

"Hear  the  horns!"  says  Mildred. 

Sir  Melot  and  King  Mark  enter. 

"Hear  the  Death  Song  in  the  orchestra," 


AT  THE  OPERA  157 

whispers  Mildred;  and,  as  rosy  dawn  begins 
to  suffuse  the  scene  and  the  bass-clarinet  wails 
King  Mark's  Grief  and  Consternation,  Mil- 
dred writes  in  pencil  at  the  side  of  her  score 
"bass  clarinet." 

"What  did  you  do  that  for?"  Jack  whispers. 

"I  want  to  try  to  imitate  the  clarinet  tone 
the  next  time  I  play  it,"  Mildred  explains. 

Tristan,  having  listened  to  his  uncle's  re- 
proaches, replies  that  he  will  return  to  his 
lonely  birthplace  in  Brittany.  Will  Isolde 
follow? 

Will  she?  Did  she  not  follow  him  to 
Cornwall?  He  has  only  to  tell  her  the  way. 
Of  course,  Isolde  will  follow! 

Oh,  how  tenderly  Tristan  kisses  Isolde's 
brow!  Oh,  what  inspired  music! 

Mildred  points  to  the  Invocation  of  Night 
and  the  Song  of  Death. 

Jack  leaned  a  little  to  the  left  over  Mil- 
dred's shoulder.  As  he  did  so  his  right  hand 
fell  lightly  on  hers  as  it  was  resting  on  the 
music  page.  Then  suddenly,  without  the 
least  warning,  prompted  by  a  surging,  uncon- 
trollable impulse  he  seized  her  hand  and  hold- 
ing it  tightly,  tenderly,  he  breathed  in  her  ear: 
"I  wish  <we  might  die  together  now,  or  that 


158      A  DAUGHTER  OF  THE  REVOLUTION 

this  night  should  never  end.  Mildred  1  Mil- 
dred!" 

Mildred,  startled,  looked  up. 

"Jack!"  she  gasped.     "Oh,  be  careful!" 

"Nobody  sees  us.  Nobody  is  looking,"  he 
exclaimed,  his  voice  quivering  with  eager 
emotion.  "I  love  you,  Mildred.  Say  you 
love  me!  Oh,  say  it,  say  it!  Say  it  now  to 
this  glorious  music!" 

"Oh,  don't— don't!"  exclaimed  Mildred. 
Her  hand,  held  firm,  remained  in  his.  Car- 
ried away  by  his  passionate  appeal  and  ex- 
cited by  the  stirring,  emotional  orchestra  with 
its  intoxicating  rhythms  and  swing  and  sweep 
of  melodies,  Mildred  grew  faint  and  closed 
her  eyes. 

The  marvelous  music  now  seemed  to  be- 
come a  personal  expression  of  their  emotions. 
Shocked  as  she  was,  Mildred  sat  still,  silent 
and  trembling.  The  friend  she  liked  and 
cherished  as  a  friend,  had  in  this  intense  mo- 
ment suddenly  disclosed  himself  to  her  as  a 
passionate  lover.  Was  it  some  strange  music 
madness;  or  were  Love  and  Fate  actually 
brewing  their  bitter  cup  for  both  of  them? 

Mildred,  terribly  moved,  could  say  noth- 
ing— do  nothing.  Even  through  her  glove 


AT  THE  OPERA  159 

she  could  feel  the  crushing  pressure  of  Jack's 
clasp.  The  rose  that  she  was  wearing  quiv- 
ered beneath  her  quickened  breath. 

A  knock  at  the  door  brought  Jack  to  his 
feet  with  a  quick  start.  He  opened  it. 

"Sorry  to  disturb  you,"  whispered  Gilbert 
Greene,  "but  I  couldn't  find  an  usher.  Mrs. 
Conway  and  De  Witt  have  gone  to  Bunty 
Pulls  the  Strings.  They  want  us  to  join  them 
at  Sherry's  for  supper.  How's  the  opera, 
Miss  Ashton?" 

"Wonderful,"  replied  Mildred,  calming 
herself  with  an  effort. 

And  now  a  rushing  movement  of  violins, 
violas  and  'cellos  describes  Melot's  attack  on 
Tristan;  the  wounded  Tristan  sinks  into  the 
arms  of  his  faithful  squire;  and  Isolde,  weep- 
ing, falls  upon  Tristan.  The  quick  chord  of 
D-minor  ends  the  act;  the  curtain  closes  rap- 
idly ;  the  lights  are  turned  up ;  and  the  whole 
house  resounds  again  with  applause  and  cries 
of  "Bravo!"  and  "Brava!" 

The  singers  have  added  to  their  laurels  of 
the  first  act.  They  are  recalled  again  and 
again.  Immense  wreaths  and  huge  baskets  of 
flowers  are  handed  over  the  footlights.  Se- 
rinsky  now  retires  and  returns  with  the  real 


160      A  DAUGHTER  OF  THE  REVOLUTION 

star  of  the  evening — Tosky,  whose  black  fig- 
ure in  evening  dress  looks  very  small  beside 
the  gigantic  Tristan  in  his  mediaeval  costume. 

"The  men  all  behave  like  hired  claquers" 
said  Greene;  'but  I  needn't  say  anything. 
See!  I  have  burst  my  gloves.  I  did  this  in 
your  service,  Miss  Ashton,"  and  Greene  held 
out  his  left  hand. 

"I  suppose  that  means,"  said  Mildred, 
"that  I  shall  have  to  give  you  another  pair." 


CHAPTER  XIV 

SOLITUDE 

NO  stranger  musical  phrase  was  ever  writ- 
ten than  the  one  that  opens  the  third  act 
of  Tristan  and  Isolde.  The  violins,  begin- 
ning on  a  low  and  loud  note,  creep  up  the 
scale  in  thirds  and  augmented  fourths- 
strange  intervals — until  they  end  in  a  very 
high  note,  given  very,  very  softly.  It  is  a 
phrase  full  of  despair,  of  fatality  and  of  utter 
loneliness,  which  prepares  the  hearer  for  the 
desolate  walls  of  Kareol,  Tristan's  castle  in 
Brittany,  on  its  lonely  eminence  overlooking 
the  sea,  where  Tristan  is  lying  under  a  tree 
dying  of  the  wound  received  from  Melot  and 
attended  by  his  faithful  squire.  A  Shepherd 
is  stationed  on  the  breastworks  at  the  top  of 
the  cliff  to  watch  for  the  ship  that  is  bringing 
Isolde.  The  tune  that  he  plays  on  his  pipe  is 
known  as  Sadness.  It  is  a  familiar  tune  to 
Tristan,  always  associated  with  his  sorrowing 
hours.  He  heard  this  tune  on  the  evening 

161 


162      A  DAUGHTER  OF  THE  REVOLUTION 

breeze  when  he  was  told  of  his  father's  death ; 
he  heard  it  in  the  morning  mist  when  he 
learned  of  how  his  mother  died;  and  he  knows 
that  it  is  connected  with  his  own  fate. 

Sadness  and  Solitude  reign  over  the  dreary 
landscape  and  grip  Tristan's  heart.  As  he 
recalls  happy  hours  with  Isolde,  the  orchestra 
revives  musical  memories  of  the  last  beautiful 
night  in  Cornwall. 

The  great  work  with  all  its  poetry  and 
beauty  must  now  gradually  deepen  into  dark- 
ness. The  night  is  coming  from  which  there 
shall,  indeed,  be  no  awakening.  Therefore, 
the  terrible  note  of  Fate  sounds  ever  deeper 
and  deeper  until  the  climax  is  reached. 

Isolde  arrives  only  in  time  to  see  Tristan 
die.  She  soon  follows  him. 

The  last  act  of  Tristan  is  not  a  cheerful  one 
for  lovers  to  witness. 

To  Gilbert  Greene,  who  had  never  studied 
Tristan,  this  last  act  had  always  been  intoler- 
able. Not  following  the  orchestra,  it  had  al- 
ways seemed  to  him  that  an  hour  is  a  long 
time  to  look  upon  and  listen  to  a  dying  man 
on  his  couch  in  a  dismal  scene,  raving  over 
his  absent  love.  He  took  a  mild  interest  in 
Serinsky,  whose  acting  was  restrained  and 


SOLITUDE  163 

polished,  and  at  times,  superb ;  but  he  thought 
that  such  delicate  art  as  the  famous  Polish 
tenor  possessed  was  wasted  on  this  heroic 
role;  and  when  Tristan  struggled  up  and  tore 
the  bandage  from  his  wound,  Gilbert  said  to 
himself,  "This  is  not  to  my  taste!  So  unnec- 
essary! So  inartistic!  So  crude!" 

The  Shepherd's  pipings  impressed  Gilbert 
as  more  melancholy  than  usual.  Gilbert's 
present  mood  was  melancholy;  and  the 
mournful  English  horn,  which  Wagner  has 
made  so  much  of  in  this  act,  cut  very  deep  into 
his  emotion.  He  found  no  beauty  in  it,  but 
much  pain.  He  had  a  strange,  sinking  feel- 
ing of  utter  and  helpless  despondency.  The 
Solitude,  with  which  Wagner  has  saturated 
this  scene,  crept  into  Gilbert's  very  soul;  and 
he  felt  inexpressibly  dreary  and  alone.  More- 
over, it  was  a  new  experience:  he  had  never 
felt  quite  like  this  before.  He  began  to  won- 
der if  any  one  in  this  great  multitude  of  music- 
lovers  was  happy,  and  if  any  one  in  this  great 
house  was  as  depressed  as  he.  This  despair 
grew  upon  him  until  it  mastered  him  com- 
pletely. The  dark  fatality  of  the  great  music- 
drama  threw  its  shadow  across  the  footlights 
and  enveloped  Gilbert.  Every  time  he  heard 


164      A  DAUGHTER  OF  THE  REVOLUTION 

those  plaintive  wails  from  the  vibrant  strings, 
those  calls  of  the  heart  from  the  liquid  wood- 
wind, and  those  sinister  forebodings  from  the 
velvety  horns,  he  was  stabbed  afresh. 

Occasionally  Gilbert  lifted  his  opera-glass 
and  swept  the  first  two  tiers  of  boxes;  but 
most  of  the  time  his  glance  was  fixed  upon 
Mildred,  who,  unconscious  that  Gilbert  was 
studying  her,  had  been  watching  the  stage  all 
through  the  act. 

Jack  was  following  the  score  alone;  or  pre- 
tending to.  He  was  very  intent  upon  the 
pages.  He  rarely  looked  at  the  stage  and 
never  at  Mildred. 

Mildred,  sitting  gracefully  in  her  chair, 
never  moved:  She  watched  the  stage  me- 
chanically. Her  face  was  a  study. 

The  last  sad  tones  of  Isolde  now  died  away. 
She  fell  on  Tristan's  body.  Passionate  Trans- 
port was  again  heard  in  the  orchestra  and  the 
"star-crossed  lovers"  found  companionship  in 
death.  Confession  of  Love  and  Desire  again 
wailed  forth;  and  the  curtain  closed  to  a  last 
grieving  chord. 

A  storm  of  applause  greeted  the  artists. 
The  house  began  to  empty;  but  a  few  en- 
thusiasts remained,  beating  their  gloves  to 


SOLITUDE  165 

pieces  and  lingering  to  see  one  more  recall 
of  Selma,  Serinsky  and  Tosky. 

All  three  in  the  Conway  box  now  rose. 

Gilbert  Greene  bowed  to  some  friends  in 
a  neighboring  box.  Jack  and  Mildred's  eyes 
met  for  a  brief  moment. 

As  Jack  folded  Mildred's  cloak  around 
her,  he  whispered,  quoting  from  the  Love 
Duet, 

"Mein  und  dein, 
Immer  ein, 
Ewig,  ewig  ein!" 

Mildred,  with  downcast  eyes,  murmured: 

"O  wonne  der  Seele!" 

"Rapture  of  spirit,"  Gilbert  translated  to 
himself,  having  overheard  Mildred,  who  was 
now  passing  through  the  door  of  the  box.  He 
stooped  to  pick  up  the  rose  that  she  had  un- 
consciously dropped  and  put  it  in  his  pocket. 
Then  he  slipped  into  his  overcoat  and  joined 
Jack  and  Mildred. 

"What  a  terribly  long  opera!"  he  said  gaily. 
"Mrs.  Conway  and  De  Witt  will  have  been 
waiting  an  hour  for  us  at  Sherry's.  How  did 
you  like  Isolde's  swan-song,  Miss  Ashton?" 


166      A  DAUGHTER  OF  THE  REVOLUTION 

"I  thought  Selma  was  wonderful,"  replied 
Mildred. 

Where  did  all  these  people  come  from! 
The  corridors  are  crowded ;  the  stairways  are 
flowing  with  a  continuous  stream  of  people; 
the  foyer  is  a  mass  of  humanity.  The  air  re- 
sounds with  carriage  calls;  and  for  many 
blocks  the  Broadway  cars  are  standing  still  in 
a  long  line.  They  are  filling  rapidly.  Once 
in  a  while  a  bell  rings  sharply  and  one  car 
moves  slowly  through  the  dense  crowd.  As 
far  as  the  eye  can  reach  it  beholds  a  sea  of 
glistening  carriage  tops,  chiefly  limousines, 
gathered  around  the  Opera  House, — a  great 
swarm  of  black  night  beetles,  with  yellow, 
glowing  eyes,  waiting  to  convey  their  owners 
home. 

No  wonder  the  old  Metropolitan  took  so 
long  to  empty  to-night;  for  nearly  the  entire 
audience  remained  until  the  end  of  the  per- 
formance. 

The  Conway  car  was  soon  called,  and  in  a 
few  minutes  was  waiting  in  the  line  at  Fifth 
Avenue  and  Forty-fourth  Street. 

"How  late  you  are!"  exclaimed  Louise,  as 
they  entered  the  supper-room.  "Mr.  De 
Witt  and  I  were  so  famished  that  we  couldn't 


SOLITUDE  167 

wait.  So  we  have  had  our  supper  already." 
.  "I  am  glad  you  have,"  replied  Mildred. 
"You  were  probably  more  hungry  than  I  am, 
for  one.  I  want  very  little." 

"L'appetit  vient  en  mangeant,"  said  Gil- 
bert, handing  her  the  menu.  "Perhaps  you 
can  find  something  that  will  tempt  you." 

"Thank  you,"  said  Mildred;  "I  think  I  will 
just  have  some  broiled  mushrooms." 

"And  what  else?" 

"Nothing  else,  thank  you,  Mr.  Greene." 

"And  I'll  have  the  same,"  said  Gilbert. 
"And  what  will  you  have,  Jack?" 

"I'll  have  a  club  sandwich,"  Jack  answered. 

"And  what  will  you  have  to  drink,  Miss 
Ashton?" 

"Oh,  whatever  you  like,"  replied  Mildred. 
"What  are  you  going  to  have?" 

"What  would  you  like,  Jack." 

"I'll  have  a  cognac,  thank  you,  and  a  strong 
cigar." 

"I  know  you  like  sauterne,  Miss  Ashton. 
Shall  we  have  a  bottle  of  Grave?" 

"Yes,  thank  you,"  said  Mildred,  "I  think 
that  would  be  very  nice." 

"Are  you  sure  you  won't  have  anything, 
Mrs.  Conway?"  Gilbert  asked  persuasively. 


168      A  DAUGHTER  OF  THE  REVOLUTION 

"Perfectly,  thank  you,"  Louise  responded. 

"And  you,  Mr.  De  Witt.  Can't  I  induce 
you  to  join  us  in  something?" 

"Thank  you,  I  will  have  a  Chartreuse,"  re- 
plied De  Witt. 

"Oh,  so  will  I,"  cried  Louise;  "that  sounds 
so  nice.  Just  what  I  want  and  didn't  know 
it." 

It  was  very  late  when  the  party  rose  from 
their  table.  When  they  reached  the  street 
they  found  that  a  thick  mist  had  blown  in 
from  the  sea.  It  was  raw  and  cold. 

In  a  few  moments  the  limousine  was  before 
Mrs.  Carroll's  door.  Gilbert,  who  happened 
to  be  sitting  nearest  the  sidewalk,  jumped  out, 
gave  his  hand  to  Mildred  and  escorted  her  up 
the  slippery  steps,  waiting  until  the  door  had 
closed  behind  her. 

Mildred  heard  the  whirr  of  the  machine 
starting  off  as  she  groped  her  way  up  the  three 
flights  of  stairs,  almost  in  total  darkness. 

On  entering  her  room  she  was  a  little  star- 
tled to  see  her  face  in  the  glass:  it  looked  so 
white  and  serious. 

What  a  long,  long  time  it  seemed  since  she 
had  dressed  for  dinner!  It  seemed  a  year 
ago! 


SOLITUDE  169 

She  took  off  her  dress  and  hung  it  on  its 
padded  silk  hanger;  slipped  on  a  pale  blue 
silk  kimono-,  and  removed  the  pins  from  her 
hair  to  rest  her  head,  which  she  now  discov- 
ered was  aching.  Then  she  sat  down  in  her 
one  easy  chair  and  slowly  and  loosely  braided 
her  hair,  which  nearly  touched  the  floor, 
thinking,  thinking,  thinking  all  the  while. 

What  an  eventful  evening! 

When  she  dressed  to  go  to  the  Conways,  she 
was  serene  and  cheerful ;  now,  as  she  was  un- 
dressing, she  was  troubled  and  unhappy. 
Life  now  wore  a  new  aspect, — and  a  very  se- 
rious one. 

She  was  much  touched  by  the  love  of  a 
man  for  whom  she  had  entertained  so  deep  a 
friendship;  and  she  could  have  no  doubt  of 
the  sincerity  of  Jack  Conway's  passion. 

Her  own  sympathetic  heart  had  responded 
to  his  outburst.  What  did  that  mean? 
Could  it  be  that  there  was  an  answering  note 
in  her  own  heart?  They  had  been  comrades 
in  study;  their  interests  and  tastes  had  brought 
them  together;  and  during  that  glorious  mu- 
sic, portraying  the  love  of  two  of  the  world's 
most  romantic  lovers,  it  had  been  revealed  to 
her  that  their  hearts  were  in  accord. 


170      A  DAUGHTER  OF  THE  REVOLUTION 

"But  Jack  is  married!"  said  Mildred. 
"Married  to  one  of  my  life-long  friends.  It  is 
all  wrong — wretchedly  wrong!  Love,  which 
should  have  come  trailing  clouds  of  glory  has 
come  to  me  in  tragic  robes  of  black." 

She  rose  from  her  chair  and  walked  up  and 
down  for  a  few  moments. 

What  was  to  be  done?  The  horror  of  the 
situation  grew  upon  her  as  her  mind  dwelt 
upon  its  possibilities.  What  a  dreadful  fu- 
ture it  told  for  all  concerned! 

"Mein  und  deinf 
Immer  ein, 
Ewig,  eui'ig  ein" 

"Mine  and  thine, 
Ever  one, 
Ever,  ever  one" 

he  had  said!  Her  face  burned  again  under 
the  memory  of  it. 

No,  no,  this  must  never  be! 

The  bits  of  melody  from  the  second  act  of 
Tristan  that  had  been  running  through  her 
head  describing  and  emphasizing  the  delights 
of  love,  now  ceased;  and  in  their  place  she 
heard  the  strange  ascending  phrase  of  Soli- 
tude, climbing  up,  up,  up  into  that  infinity  of 


SOLITUDE  171 

sadness  and  hopelessness.  Yes;  this  Solitude 
and  this  sorrow  that  she  had  heard  with  such 
pangs  a  few  hours  ago  was  to  be  her  destiny, 
too.  In  these  dark  meshes  of  Love  and  Fate 
her  life  must  be  enveloped  and  held  fast  for- 
ever. 

Mildred  looked  around  her  little  room. 
At  this  wretched  moment  it  seemed  pitifully 
poor  and  dreary.  "Is  this  to  be  my  life  for- 
ever?" she  said  half  aloud.  "Am  I  to  grow 
old  here  and  forlorn  like  poor  Miss  Van  Tas- 
sel? Is  that  all  that  I  can  look  forward  to?" 

The  very  question  made  clear  the  course  that 
she  had  resolved  to  follow.  The  sad-faced 
Spirit  of  Sacrifice  was  beckoning  to  her.  Her 
pathway  was  plain  before  her. 

Mildred  walked  to  the  window. 

Dawn  was  breaking  through  the  mists  that 
were  fast  floating  away  in  the  fresh  breeze. 
The  faint  yellow  band  at  the  horizon  turned 
saffron  and  then  pink.  A  tiny  rim  of  glowing 
scarlet  appeared  through  the  clouds.  The 
chain  of  lights  that  indicated  the  long  span  of 
the  Queensboro  Bridge  faded  from  orange  to 
the  palest  lemon  and  the  cables  and  towers  be- 
came sharper  and  sharper  until  the  indistinct 
threads,  hanging  in  mid-air  like  a  filmy  cob- 


172      A  DAUGHTER  OF  THE  REVOLUTION 

web,  turned  into  a  substantial  thoroughfare. 
The  red  ball  rolled  up  out  of  the  clouds  and 
burst  into  light. 

"  'Let  there  be  light,' "  quoted  Mildred, 
who  was  always  awed  by  the  dawn.  "  'And 
there  was  light.'  And  light  has  come  to  mel" 

At  this  moment  the  little  verse  on  the  Sun- 
dial at  Wild  Acres  came  into  Mildred's  mind : 

I  mark  ye  hours; 

Man  notes  ye  time; 
Spite  storme  and  showers 

Ye  sun  will  shine. 

"These  lines  seem  to  haunt  me,"  she  said, 
"as  the  Shepherd's  melody  haunted  Tristan. 
I  wonder  why!" 

And,  as  she  gazed  sorrowfully  on  the  quiet 
city,  still  sleeping  in  the  cold  morning  light, 
she  heard  again  the  plaintive  violins  voicing 
that  strange  climbing  Solitude,  with  its  poign- 
ant intervals,  mounting  up,  up,  up  into  an 
eternity  of  sorrow. 


CHAPTER  XV 

NOTES  AND  FLOWERS 

MILDRED  remained  in  her  room  the 
next  morning,  merely  sending  for  Sai- 
dee  to  bring  her  a  cup  of  coffee  and  some 
toast.  The  wearing  emotional  disturbance 
finally  proved  too  much  for  her,  and  she 
dropped  down  upon  her  bed  and  fell  asleep. 

She  was  roused  about  noon  by  a  knock  at 
the  door.  This  proved  to  be  Oscar,  who  had 
brought  her  a  note. 

It  was  from  Jack. 

Dear  Mildred: 

There  is  nothing  in  the  world  for  me  now  but  you. 
You  know  what  my  life  is,  how  unsympathetic  Louise 
and  I  are,  and  how  little  she  cares  for  me.  I  might  add 
how  little  we  care  for  each  other  and  how  separate  our 
lives  are.  Louise  is  wrapped  up  in  people,  dress  and 
fashion,  and  her  dog;  and  I  am  wrapped  up  in  you. 
You  have  come  to  mean  everything  to  me — everything 
in  the  world. 

I  am  so  happy  to  feel  that  you  do  care  for  me  and  I 
173 


174     A  DAUGHTER  OF  THE  REVOLUTION 

know  there  can  be  only  one  end  to  all  this.  Our  lives 
must  be  united.  It  would  be  a  relief  to  Louise,  I  am 
sure,  if  I  were  out  of  her  life  and  she  were  free  to  marry 
De  Witt,  who  is  the  only  man  I  have  ever  seen  her  take 
a  vital  interest  in.  She  cares  for  him,  I  think,  as  much 
as  she  can  care  for  any  one.  Louise  has  her  own  inde- 
pendent fortune,  so,  you  see,  the  money  question  need 
not  trouble  us. 

Mildred,  it  is  clear  to  me  that  we  must  belong  to  each 
other, — the  sooner  the  better. 

I  will  call  for  you  this  afternoon  about  four  o'clock 
for  a  drive  when  we  can  talk  over  the  whole  question. 
Send  a  note  back  by  the  messenger,  and  tell  me  that  you 
will  go.  Just  a  few  words  of  assurance,  Mildred.  One 
word  "yes"  would  be  enough.  It  means  all  in  life  to  me. 

JACK. 

Mildred  sat  at  her  desk  for  some  time,  her 
hands  pressed  tight  to  her  throbbing  brows. 
Then  with  a  sudden  little  tragic  gesture  of 
resolution  she  caught  up  her  pen  and  wrote: 

Dear  Jack: 

I  am  sorry  to  disappoint  you,  but  I  can't  possibly  ac- 
cept your  invitation  for  this  afternoon.  I  was  awake 
until  long  after  dawn  and  I  have  a  very  bad  headache. 

Please  let  us  try  to  forget  last  night,  and  go  back  to 
where  we  were.  We  were  good  comrades  and  your 
companionship  made  me  very  happy.  Can  we  not  go 
back? 


NOTES  AND  FLOWERS  175 

It  costs  me  a  great  deal  more  to  say  this  than  you  may 
realize;  but  when  you  think  it  over,  you  will  agree  with 

me. 

MILDRED. 

As  she  finished  it  suddenly  came  to  Mildred 
that  she  was  going  to  the  Conways  to  dinner 
that  evening  for  Mr.\Greene's  theatre-party. 
"I  shall  have  to  write  to  Louise  and  make  an 
excuse,"  she  said.  "Fortunately,  this  head- 
ache will  do." 

Thereupon  Mildred  again  took  up  her  pen 
and  wrote 

Dear  Louise: 

I  am  so  sorry  that  I  can't  come  to-night  to  dine  and 
be  one  of  Mr.  Greene's  party  for  the  "lively  show"  he 
has  promised  as  an  antidote  to  Tristan.  I  have  a  dread- 
ful headache;  and  I  shall  not  be  able  to  leave  my  room 
all  day. 

Please  make  my  excuses  to  Mr.  Greene. 

Hoping  you  will  have  a  delightful  evening  and  forget 
all  about  me,  I  am 

Affectionately  yours, 

MILDRED. 

Mildred  sent  this  off  at  once.  In  about 
half  an  hour  the  telephone  rang. 

"This  is  Louise,"  was  the  answer  to  Mil- 
dred's inquiry,  and  then  "Mildred,  I  am  so 


176      A  DAUGHTER  OF  THE  REVOLUTION 

sorry  to  hear  that  you  are  ill.  Can  I  do  any- 
thing for  you?"  and  then:  "I  am  so  disap- 
pointed that  you  can't  be  one  of  the  party  to- 
night. Mildred!  how  can  I  entertain  three 
men  without  your  help,  one  of  them  being 
Jack!  You  don't  know  what  a  bore  Jack  is 
when  you  are  not  here.  Good-bye." 

The  Conway  dinner-table  presented  quite 
a  contrast  to  the  one  of  the  night  before. 
Every  one  missed  Mildred's  vivacious  pres- 
ence. 

Louise,  in  her  severe  black  velvet  and 
pearls  and  with  her  cold  manner,  had  no  foil 
to-night  with  the  bright-faced  Mildred  miss- 
ing. There  was  practically  no  conversation. 
Jack  was  as  silent  as  Mr.  De  Witt  and  Gil- 
bert Greene's  attempts  to  enliven  the  dull 
party  fell  on  stony  ground.  He  gave  them  up 
as  early  as  the  entree.  The  courses  were 
barely  tasted;  and  Frangois  found  himself  in 
an  incredibly  short  time  serving  the  coffee, 
liqueurs,  cigars  and  cigarettes. 

Smoking  was  the  first  thing  the  men  seemed 
to  enjoy.  Louise  also  found  relief  in  the 
cigarette  that  Phil  De  Witt  lit  for  her.  After 
a  few  puffs — she  smoked  gracefully — Louise 
came  to  the  rescue.  "We  are  all  dead  tired 


NOTES  AND  FLOWERS  177 

to-night,"  she  said.  "Suppose  we  give  up  the 
theatre  and  play  cards  instead." 

"Hooray!"  cried  Gilbert. 

"Happy  thought!"  cried  Phil  De  Witt. 

"Louise,  that  was  an  inspiration!"  cried 
Jack. 

Therefore,  while  Mildred  was  picturing  to 
herself  the  familiar  party  hurrying  off  to  the 
theatre,  for  a  delightful  evening  (all  but  Jack, 
for  she  could  imagine  how  despondent  he 
must  be)  her  friends  were  sitting  in  the  Con- 
way  drawing-room  around  the  card-table  in- 
tent upon  auction  bridge. 

Mildred  was  so  frequently  absent  from 
Mrs.  Carroll's  dinner-table  that  her  empty 
place  this  evening  called  forth  no  surprise 
until  Mrs.  Carroll  said  something  to  her  neigh- 
bor about  Miss  Ashton  being  ill  to-night. 
Immediately  a  wave  of  concern  passed  from 
seat  to  seat.  Mr.  Charles  J.  Williams  swal- 
lowed his  coffee  in  one  gulp  and  left  the  table. 
The  sound  of  the  front  door  shutting  immedi- 
ately afterwards  told  the  rest  of  the  boarders 
that  he  had  gone  out.  Miss  Van  Tassel 
climbed  at  once  to  Mildred's  room;  and  Mil- 
dred responded  to  her  knock  and  invited  her 
to  come  in.  Miss  Van  Tassel  was  soon  seated 


178      A  DAUGHTER  OF  THE  REVOLUTION 

in  Mildred's  easy  chair  by  the  side  of  the  bed, 
where  Mildred  lay,  her  aching  head  propped 
on  the  pillows.  With  great  effort  she  feigned 
interest  in  Miss  Van  Tassel's  stories  of  the  old 
New  York  days  when  she  was  a  beauty  and  a 
belle. 

Miss  Van  Tassel  was  of  use,  however,  for 
she  saved  Mildred  the  pain  and  trouble  of  get- 
ting up  to  open  the  door.  Miss  Van  Tassel 
was  not  only  glad  to  be  of  service  to  Mildred, 
but  she  was  delighted  to  be  the  only  one  who 
could  see  all  that  was  happening. 

Saidee's  first  knock  was  to  deliver  a  long 
bundle  of  oily  white  paper,  which  contained 
a  large  bunch  of  pink  carnations,  to  which 
the  card  of  Mr.  Charles  J.  Williams  was 
tied  with  several  yards  of  wide  pink  satin  rib- 
bon. 

Saidee's  second  knock  brought  one  pink 
rose,  unwrapped,  and  a  curiously  twisted  strip 
of  note  paper,  which  Mildred  unfolded — she 
had  never  seen  anything  like  it  before — to  dis- 
cover a  missive  from  Bernard  Fogg,  to  bring 
his  hopes  for  a  speedy  recovery.  The  third 
knock  revealed  Cora. 

Cora,  having  heard  the  news  in  the  kitchen 


NOTES  AND  FLOWERS  179 

when  she  went  to  get  her  own  dinner,  lost  no 
time  in  informing  the  two  Miss  Swanns  that 
Miss  Ashton  was  ill.  Whereupon,  Miss  Jes- 
sie picked  up  a  bottle  of  headache  cologne  and 
the  bunch  of  fresh  violets  she  had  intended  to 
wear  to  a  concert  andxsaid:  "Cora,  take  these 
to  Miss  Ashton,  with  our  compliments,  and  be 
sure  to  find  out  how  she  is  and  if  there  is  any- 
thing we  can  do  for  her." 

Cora  had  no  sooner  gone  than  Saidee  re- 
turned with  a  box  from  a  Fifth  Avenue  florist 
containing  a  deliciously  fragrant  bunch  of 
lilies-of-the-valley  with  the  card  of  Mr.  Gil- 
bert Greene  lying  on  top  of  them. 

If  the  sender  could  have  seen  Mildred's 
pleasure  as  her  eyes  fell  upon  them  and  her 
words,  "These  are  my  favorite  flowers,  Miss 
Van  Tassel.  I  can  hear  the  little  perfumed 
bells  ring, — can't  you?"  he  would  have  been 
more  than  delighted. 

Mildred  was  quite  touched  with  all  these 
attentions. 

"You  really  are  a  belle,"  said  Miss  Van 
Tassel.  "You  do  remind  me  so  much  of  my- 
self when  I  was  your  age." 

Then  the  last  little  withered  leaf  of  the  Van 


180      A  DAUGHTER  OF  THE  REVOLUTION 

Tassel  tree  began  again  her  stories  of  social 
triumphs. 

"Please  take  your  choice  of  the  flowers, 
Miss  Van  Tassel,"  said  Mildred,  when  her 
guest  rose  to  go. 

"Oh,  no!"  said  Miss  Van  Tassel,  "they  were 
not  intended  for  me." 

"But  I  want  you  to,"  said  Mildred. 
"Please  do." 

"I'll  take  the  pink  rose,  then,  if  you  insist," 
said  Miss  Van  Tassel.  "Thank  you,  Miss 
Ashton,  you  are  so  generous." 

Mildred  was  very  glad  her  choice  had 
fallen  upon  Mr.  Bernard  Fogg's  offering. 

As  the  door  closed  behind  Miss  Van  Tassel, 
Mildred  took  the  screwed-up  note  and  looked 
at  the  creases  made  by  the  intricate  folding. 
"Why  couldn't  he  have  sent  his  card,"  said 
Mildred,  "or,  at  least,  put  his  note  into  an  en- 
velope." 

With  that  she  tore  the  missive  into  numer- 
ous little  pieces  and  threw  them  into  the  waste- 
basket. 

"No,"  she  said,  after  a  minute,  stooping  to 
fish  every  one  of  them  out,  although  her  head 
was  throbbing  violently.  "I  want  to  get  rid 
of  every  piece — every  particle." 


NOTES  AND  FLOWERS  181 

Then,  raising  the  window,  she  threw  them 
out,  delighted  to  see  the  bits  of  white  paper 
fluttering  away  upon  the  cool,  night  breeze. 


CHAPTER  XVI 


AS  Mildred  had  not  appeared  at  the  Con- 
ways  for  a  week,  Louise,  who  had  been 
expecting  her  each  day,  allowed  the  time  to 
slip  away;  but  when  she  realized  that  Mil- 
dred had  not  been  to  dinner  since  the  Tristan 
night,  she  feared  something  must  be  the  mat- 
ter. This  fact  dawned  upon  her  one  day 
when  she  was  shopping;  and  she,  therefore, 
decided  to  stop  at  Mrs.  Carroll's  and  learn 
what  was  the  trouble. 

Mildred  happened  to  be  in  and  was  more 
than  glad  to  see  her. 

"Why  haven't  you  been  to  dine  with  us?" 
Louise  asked  as  Mildred  entered  the  parlor. 

"I  haven't  been  at  all  well  lately,  Louise," 
Mildred  answered. 

"That's  not  a  good  reason.  If  you  were  ill, 
all  the  more  reason  why  you  should  have  come 
to  us.  Gilbert  Greene  has  missed  you;  Jack 

has  missed  you;  and  I  have  missed  you.     I  al- 

182 


A  BALL  AT  THE  PLAZA  183 

ways  have  a  double  reason  for  missing  you," 
Louise  laughed  cynically,  "because  it  puts  Jack 
over  on  my  hands.  When  you  aren't  present, 
he  is  indifferent  to  everything  and  everybody 
— so  bored!  He  is  a  perfect  killjoy!  I  never 
saw  anything  like  him!  I  do  wish  you  would 
come  and  cheer  him  up, — cheer  us  all  up,  in 
fact.  We  are  suffering  from  the  blues,  blues 
of  every  shade  and  every  degree.  Can't  you 
go  home  with  me  now?  Or,  if  you  don't 
want  to  hurry  dressing,  I'll  call  for  you  in 
half  an  hour.  Come  along!" 

"I  can't  possibly  come  this  evening,  Louise. 
I  have  some  writing  to  do  to-night.  Thank 
you  ever  so  much,  but  I  can't." 

"Well,  then,  we'll  expect  you  to-morrow 
night." 

"No,"  said  Mildred,  "I  am  afraid  I  shall 
not  get  through  with  what  I  have  to  do  to- 
night." 

"But  you've  all  day  to-morrow,"  said 
Louise;  "I  shall  begin  to  think  that  you  don't 
want  to  come." 

"Hardly  that,"  replied  Mildred. 

"Well,  then,  I'll  tell  you  what  we  will  do," 
Louise  answered.  "I  have  tickets  for  the  ball 
at  the  Plaza  Friday  night.  You  must  come 


184      A  DAUGHTER  OF  THE  REVOLUTION 

to  dinner,  and  we'll  all  go.  Phil  De  Witt 
and  Gilbert  Greene  are  coming.  I  suppose  I 
really  ought  to  ask  another  woman,  but  I'd 
rather  just  have  you." 

Mildred,  beginning  to  think  that  it  might 
be  wiser  to  accept  Louise's  cordial  invitation 
than  to  allow  her  to  wonder  at  her  persistent 
refusals,  promised  to  come;  and  Louise,  satis- 
fied at  having  carried  her  point,  gave  Mildred 
a  bird-like  kiss  on  the  cheek,  tripped  down  the 
steps  and  stepped  lightly  into  her  car. 

"Now,  this  is  not  an  easy  thing  to  do,"  said 
Mildred,  "but  I  shall  have  to  go.  I  know  I 
can  depend  on  Jack  when  all  the  others  are 
present  and  I  will  be  careful  to  avoid  a  tete-a- 
tete." 

Mildred  was  right.  She  could  depend  on 
Jack;  for  when  Louise  told  him  that  Mildred 
was  coming  to  dine  on  Friday,  he  received 
the  news  with  a  calm  exterior  and  resolved 
not  to  embarrass  Mildred  in  any  way. 

Mildred  was  very  particular  to  arrive  late 
so  that  the  party  would  be  gathered  in  the 
drawing-room  when  she  entered.  They  were 
all  waiting  for  her.  Louise  greeted  her 
warmly;  and  so  did  Mr.  Greene  and  Mr.  De 
.Witt.  Jack  also  shook  her  hand  cordially  but 


A  BALL  AT  THE  PLAZA  185 

with  a  great  effort  towards  formality,  which 
De  Witt's  sharp  eyes  noticed.  De  Witt  was 
a  silent,  but  very  observant,  man. 

Frangois  was  in  high  feather  to-night.  He 
had  plenty  of  time  to  serve  the  dinner.  The 
party  lingered  long  in, delightful  conversation 
over  every  course;  for  Mildred's  presence  had 
the  effect  of  sunshine  after  a  long  rainy  sea- 
son. She  made  it  a  point  never  to  look  at 
Jack,  a  little  omission  that  Phil  De  Witt  also 
noted.  She,  however,  was  able  to  talk  enter- 
tainingly and  the  others  also  brightened  up 
amazingly.  Louise  was  very  cheerful;  and 
even  the  usually  quiet  De  Witt  told  two  good 
stories  that  he  had  just  heard  at  his  Club. 

"We  are  just  in  good  time,"  said  Louise,  as 
she  came  down  the  stairs  after  dinner  in  her 
evening  wrap.  "I  do  hate  to  be  early  any- 
where." 

"We  sha'n't  be  early  to-night,"  said  De 
Witt,  who  was  hurrying  into  his  coat. 

Mildred's  wrap  was  lying  in  the  small  re- 
ception-room on  the  other  side  of  the  hall. 
As  she  went  to  get  it,  Jack  followed  her.  He 
held  it  up  and  as  he  folded  it  around  her  the 
memory  of  Tristan  came  back.  Again  he 
whispered: 


i86      A  DAUGHTER  OF  THE  REVOLUTION 

"Mem  und  dein 
Immer  e'm 
Ew'ig,  ew'ig  ein." 

But  the  words  he  longed  to  hear  from  Mil- 
dred were  unspoken.  She  hurried  out  of  the 
door  that  Frangois  was  holding  open  and  into 
the  limousine,  in  which  Louise  was  already 
seated. 

The  corner  of  Fifth  Avenue  and  Fifty- 
ninth  Street  is  beautiful  at  every  season  of  the 
year  and  at  all  times  of  day  and  night.  The 
long  lines  of  streets,  the  tall,  handsome  hotels 
• — the  Plaza,  the  Savoy  and  the  Netherland— 
the  Metropolitan  Club,  the  Vanderbilt  Man- 
sion and  other  stately  private  houses  and  Cen- 
tral Park,  which  these  fine  buildings  face, 
present  a  magnificent  city  view. 

One  stands  here  as  one  stands  at  Hyde  Park 
Corner,  or  at  the  Marble  Arch,  in  London,  to 
see  the  elegant  world  go  by. 

This  spot  is  particularly  fine  at  twilight 
when  the  soft  blue  light  falls  upon  the  green 
sward  of  the  Park  and  its  darker  trees,  and 
upon  the  streets,  enveloping  everything  in  a 
delicate  mist  through  which  the  lights  begin 
to  appear  from  street  lamps  and  from  all  the 
large  buildings.  The  Plaza,  with  its  pic- 


A  BALL  AT  THE  PLAZA  187 

turesque  roof  bristling  with  windows  of  vari- 
ous shapes  and  sizes,  gains  at  this  hour  the  ef- 
fect of  a  fairy  castle. 

This  corner  was  so  picturesque  on  this 
night  that  our  party  remarked  upon  it  as 
the  Conway  limousine  took  its  place  in  line 
as  far  away  from  the  Plaza  as  Fifth  Avenue 
and  Fifty-ninth  Street.  A  light  snow  had 
been  falling  for  several  hours  and  had  pow- 
dered the  streets  with  a  delicate,  sparkling 
dust.  It  had  also  powdered  the  trees  in  the 
Park.  In  places  where  the  light  from  the 
street  lamps  and  the  long  cones  of  golden  light 
from  automobile  lamps  fell  upon  it  the  soft 
snow  sparkled.  The  fine  and  delicate  flakes 
that  filled  the  air — for  the  snow  was  still  fall- 
ing— made  the  very  atmosphere  scintillate. 
Through  the  soft  whiteness  of  the  night  the 
lights  gleamed  from  the  tall  hotels  in  every 
shade  from  deepest  ruby  to  orange  and  palest 
lemon.  A  long  line  of  lighted  cars  was  con- 
gested along  Fifty-ninth  Street  and  carriages 
and  limousines  packed  Fifth  Avenue  so  closely 
that  there  was  hardly  space  for  another;  yet 
another,  and  still  another,  was  always  coming. 
So  the  long  lines  lengthened  and  broadened, 
although  at  the  entrance  of  the  Plaza  arriv- 


i88      A  DAUGHTER  OF  THE  REVOLUTION 

ing  carriages  delivered  their  occupants  and 
got  out  of  the  way  to  make  room  for  those  that 
were  gradually  approaching. 

How  bright  the  Plaza  was  inside!  How 
full  it  was  already!  The  elevators  were  car- 
rying load  after  load  of  dancers  to  the  ball- 
room; and  more  and  more  were  constantly 
coming.  The  women,  removing  their  wraps 
in  the  dressing-room,  found  their  escorts  wait- 
ing for  them  and  together  they  ascended  the 
wide  stairways,  or  took  the  elevator. 

The  halls  and  stairways  were  beautifully 
decorated  with  flowers;  potted  plants  were 
placed  so  as  to  form  a  fine  decorative  effect; 
and  from  every  room,  large  and  small,  an  or- 
chestra was  playing,  to  which  people  were 
dancing. 

As  the  Conway  party  entered  the  ball- 
room, the  orchestra  was  playing  a  very  charm- 
ing Hesitation  Waltz.  De  Witt  and  Louise 
started  off  at  once.  Many  of  the  spectators 
in  the  boxes  noticed,  even  on  this  floor  of  beau- 
tifully dressed  women,  Louise's  dress  of  shim- 
mering silver,  which  caught  the  light  so  beau- 
tifully as  she  took  the  rhythms  with  easy  steps 
and  well-poised  head. 

Gilbert  Greene  asked  Mildred  to  dance; 


A  BALL  AT  THE  PLAZA  189 

and  off  they  glided,  both  being  graceful  danc- 
ers. Jack,  seeing  some  friends,  walked  across 
the  floor,  dodging  the  dancers,  and  drew  a 
grateful  partner  from  a  little  group,  in  which 
the  women  outnumbered  the  men. 

"Mr.  Greene,"  sai4  Mildred  as  they  danced 
along,  "I  haven't  yet  had  a  chance  to  thank 
you  in  person  for  those  lovely  lilies-of-the-val- 
ley  you  sent  me.  How  did  you  know  that 
they  are  my  favorite  flowers?" 

"I  didn't  know,  but  I  know  now,"  replied 
Greene.  "If  you  ever  get  ill  again,  I  will 
send  you  some  more.  Only,  please  don't  get 
ill  again." 

"No,  I  haven't  the  slightest  idea  of  doing 
so,"  said  Mildred. 

The  next  dance  was  a  one-step.  Jack,  ad- 
vancing, claimed  Mildred  for  this.  After 
dancing  a  while  in  silence,  Jack  said,  "Mil- 
dred, was  your  letter  final?" 

"Yes,  Jack,"  she  answered. 

"Well,  then,"  said  Jack,  his  face  growing 
hard,  "you  don't  love  me." 

"Oh,  I  dol"  protested  Mildred,  with  a  kind 
of  earnestness  that  showed  Jack  only  too 
clearly  that  it  was  not  the  kind  of  love  that 
his  heart  hungered  for. 


igo      A  DAUGHTER  OF  THE  REVOLUTION 

"No,  you  don't,"  he  repeated  quickly  and 
bitterly. 

"Why—" 

"No,  you  don't.  If  you  did,  you  wouldn't 
give  me  up.  You  are  cold — cold  as  ice." 

"I?  Cold?"  exclaimed  Mildred,  in  sur- 
prise and  greatly  hurt. 

"Yes.  You  don't  love  me.  I  know  it — 
you  don't." 

Deeply  wounded,  Mildred  answered,  "It 
is  terribly  hard  to  give  you  up.  I  can't  bear 
to  have  to  let  you  go.  You  don't  know,  Jack, 
what  your  companionship  has  been  to  me.  I 
have  missed  our  walks  and  our  talks  and  our 
music.  I  am  very  lonely.  I  miss  you  dread- 
fully." 

The  music  ceased.  Jack  and  Mildred  now 
joined  De  Witt,  who  was  standing  by  the  door 
alone,  waiting  for  Louise  and  Gilbert  to  sail 
into  his  port. 

"Shall  we  go  to  supper  now?"  asked  Louise. 

"No,  one  more  dance  for  me,  please,"  said 
De  Witt;  "here  is  the  Hesitation  again.  Come 


on." 


"Shall  we  try  this,  Miss  Ashton?"  asked 
Gilbert. 


A  BALL  AT  THE  PLAZA  191 

"With  pleasure,"  Mildred  replied;  and  off 
they  went  to  "Mighty  Lak'  a  Rose." 

Jack  Conway  watched  Mildred  and  Greene 
dancing  so  lightly  together  in  such  perfect 
step  and  looking  so  well,  so  handsome  and  so 
perfectly  suited  to  one  another;  and  he  said 
to  himself,  bitterly: 

"Greene's  the  man  Mildred  loves  and  she 
doesn't  know  it!  There  is  no  doubt  about  the 
state  of  Greene's  feelings.  It  is  as  plain  as 
day.  I  wonder  if  Mildred  will  throw  Greene 
down?  He  is  the  man  she  loves.  My  God! 
but  life  is  hard  for  me!" 

"That  was  a  delightful  dance,  Mr.  Greene," 
said  Mildred,  as  she  and  her  partner  joined 
the  others.  "I  enjoyed  it  so  much!" 

"So  did  I,"  replied  Gilbert. 

"Yes,  you  did,"  thought  Jack,  looking  at 
Mildred's  brightly  shining  eyes  and  her  rich 
color  heightened  by  the  exercise;  "there's  no 
doubt  about  that.  If  you  felt  as  I  do,  you 
would  not  look  like  that,  Mildred.  Yes,  I 
am  perfectly  sure  that  you  do  not  love  me. 
You  are  still  very  much  of  a  child,  Mildred; 
you  are  not  yet  awake!" 

To  a  casual  observer  looking  down  from  a 


192      A  DAUGHTER  OF  THE  REVOLUTION 

height  upon  a  midnight  supper  in  one  of  the 
big  New  York  hotels  and  noting  the  vast 
crowd  of  beautifully  dressed  women,  spar- 
kling with  jewels  and  wafting  in  the  tropical 
warmth  the  choicest  and  most  delicate  of  per- 
fumes at  every  turn  of  their  heads,  bodies  and 
gloved  hands;  at  the  well-dressed  and  well- 
groomed  men,  seated  at  the  hundreds  of  little 
tables,  around  which  the  waiters  thread  their 
way  so  marvellously  to  bring  tempting  and 
beautifully  decorated  dishes ;  at  the  exhibition 
dancers;  at  the  lights;  and  at  the  flowers;  and 
hearing  the  popping  of  champagne  corks;  the 
chatter  of  voices  with  laughter  occasionally 
cutting  through  the  din;  and  the  intoxicating 
syncopated  rhythms  of  the  insidious  music, 
he  would  imagine  that  nothing  but  joy  and 
happiness  reigned  in  the  heart  and  breast  of 
every  one  present,  apparently  taking  life  so 
lightly,  so  gaily,  so  carelessly. 

Far  from  it  I 

Our  little  table  was  no  exception.  Prob- 
ably not  one  person  in  these  great  rooms 
where  thousands  were  eating,  drinking  and 
making  merry,  was  perfectly  happy.  Our 
group  was  outwardly  as  merry  as  the  rest. 
Who  could  have  thought  otherwise?  Louise, 


A  BALL  AT  THE  PLAZA  193 

in  her  casing  of  silver  mail  that  fit  her  slender 
figure  as  if  she  had  been  melted  into  it  and 
with  a  tall  silver  and  pink  aigrette  fastened 
into  her  dark  hair  with  a  diamond  pin;  Mil- 
dred, in  her  canary  silk  with  her  rich  topaz 
ornament,  now  drawing  off  her  gloves  and 
handing  them  to  Gilbert  Greene  to  take  care 
of  for  her;  and  these  three  perfectly  groomed 
men,  correct  in  every  detail  as  to  costume,  also 
taking  off  their  gloves,  appeared  to  represent 
a  party  of  enviable  persons  to  whom  the  world 
has  given  all  that  it  has  to  give. 

They  represented,  however,  what  Life  and 
Fate  can  do  to  make  matters  complicated  and 
distressful  for  five  persons. 

What  tangled  threads  of  Destiny  were 
caught  in  the  same  mesh, — a  mesh  woven,  not 
by  any  one  of  the  group,  but  by  Fate — inex- 
orable Fate! 

Not  only  around  the  table  of  our  friends, 
but  around  every  table  in  this  crowded  and 
brilliant  supper-room,  the  voice  of  Fate,  like 
the  rumble  of  distant  thunder,  could  have 
been  heard  by  any  ear  delicate  enough  to  dis- 
cern it  and  intelligent  enough  to  understand 
the  meaning  of  the  long,  deep,  heavy  and  mut- 
tering roll. 


CHAPTER  XVII 

AN  AFTERNOON  CALL 

PHILIP  DE  WITT  was  a  strange,  silent 
man.  One  never  knew  what  he  was 
thinking,  or  planning.  His  black  eyes  that 
looked  out  from  rather  heavy  brows  were 
sharp  and  keen  and  a  trifle  hard.  They 
changed  little,  too,  as  he  talked.  Their  bril- 
liancy seemed  to  come  from  without,  instead 
of  from  within.  Philip  De  Witt's  eyes  were 
certainly  not  torches  of  the  soul;  for  Philip 
De  Witt  had  very  little  soul.  He  had  gone 
through  life  and  had  reached  the  age  of  forty 
without  experiencing  many  emotions  save 
those  inspired  by  a  very  high  temper. 

If  Philip  De  Witt  had  been  forced  to  have 
made  his  living  unaided,  he  would  either  have 
had  to  warm  up  a  little  to  the  world,  or  to 
have  become  an  instant  failure.  Coming  of 
a  well-connected  family,  he  had,  after  gradu- 
ation from  Princeton,  been  given  a  position 
in  an  insurance  company,  where  he  drew  a 

194 


AN  AFTERNOON  CALL  195 

moderate  salary  for  a  very  small  amount  of 
work.  This  suited  Mr.  De  Witt.  His  sal- 
ary barely  enabled  him  to  make  both  ends 
meet,  particularly  as  he  had  luxurious  tastes 
and  habits.  He  made  every  penny  of  his  ex- 
penditure count,  and,  therefore,  appeared  to 
have  more  money  than  he  had.  He  lived  near 
the  University  Club  and  dined  out  a  great 
deal.  Though  not  popular,  he  was  able  to 
"fit  well"  into  society  anywhere  and  at  any 
time.  He  was  an  excellent,  though  not  espe- 
cially graceful,  dancer;  he  played  cards  well; 
he  was  always  ready  for  anything;  and  he 
was  an  attentive  listener.  He  never  broke 
into  a  conversation,  nor  spoiled  another  man's 
story.  His  watchfulness  and  little  courtesies 
to  the  fair  sex  and  his  polite  attentions  to  his 
hostess,  whoever  she  might  be,  accounted,  in 
part,  for  his  numerous  invitations. 

Phil  De  Witt  had  never  cared  much  about 
marrying,  except  for  the  pecuniary  advan- 
tages it  might  bring  to  him.  A  wife  without 
money  was  a  catastrophe  too  intolerable  to 
consider.  He  had  been  one  of  the  moths  that 
had  flittered  around  Louise  Steele;  for  he  ad- 
mired her  more  than  any  girl  he  had  ever 
met. 


I96      A  DAUGHTER  OF  THE  REVOLUTION 

Louise,  however,  had  preferred  Jack  Con- 
way  with  money  to  Philip  De  Witt  without 
money,  just  as  she  would  have  preferred 
Philip  De  Witt  with  money  to  Jack  Conway 
without  it,  had  the  case  been  reversed.  Now 
that  she  was  tied  to  Jack,  she  preferred  Phil 
De  Witt;  and  if  she  had  been  tied  to  Phil 
De  Witt,  by  this  time  she  would,  no  doubt, 
have  been  turning  her  thoughts  to  Jack 
Conway. 

One  day  at  the  Club  De  Witt  had  over- 
heard a  man  ask,  "Who  is  that  chap  over  there 
with  the  Van  Dyke  beard?  Looks  like  a 
painter!"  This  gave  Mr.  De  Witt  a  tip.  He 
allowed  his  hair,  which  was  slightly  wavy,  to 
grow  a  trifle  longer  than  hair  is  usually  worn; 
and  this,  with  his  pointed  beard  and  mous- 
tache, gave  him  the  romantic  appearance  he 
desired.  He  was,  therefore,  frequently  taken 
for  a  professional  man,  which  pleased  him. 

It  did  not  take  long  for  Mr.  De  Witt  to 
discover  the  little  rift  within  the  lute  at  the 
Conways.  Naturally,  he  was  one  of  the  first 
callers  at  the  Madison  Avenue  house,  and  one 
of  the  first  dinner-guests.  He  was  too  clever 
not  to  make  himself  an  established  and  regu- 
lar member  of  the  Conway  dinner  parties. 


AN  AFTERNOON  CALL  197 

From  the  more  formal  dinners,  he  graduated 
to  the  small,  informal  ones;  and  he  was  also 
in  the  habit  of  dropping  in  on  Friday  after- 
noons when  Louise  had  her  receptions.  Sun- 
day afternoons  he  always  spent  at  the  Con- 
ways;  and  he  usually  remained  to  dinner. 

The  past  few  weeks  had  revealed  to  Mr. 
De  Witt  the  great  opportunity  of  his  life. 
He  had  long  determined  to  make  himself  es- 
sential to  Louise.  Mr.  De  Witt  was  very 
tired  of  the  insurance  business  and  it  was 
growing  every  day  more  difficult  to  reach  Pine 
Street  by  ten  o'clock.  Moreover,  he  enjoyed 
being  with  Louise.  He  admired  the  way  she 
dressed;  the  way  she  carried  herself;  her  man- 
ners; and  her  cynicism.  He  also  admired  the 
way  she  entertained  and  he  liked  her  coldness 
and  her  self-possession.  He  had  welcomed 
Mildred's  advent  into  the  group  and  the  ef- 
fect she  had  upon  Jack  delighted  him.  His 
was  the  mind  that  had  directed  Louise  to  en- 
courage the  friendship  between  her  old  friend 
and  her  husband.  It  suited  Mr.  De  Witt's 
purpose.  Something  might  be  made  of  this. 
Mr.  De  Witt  saw  a  great  and  promising  open- 
ing for  his  plans. 

"I  hope  Louise  hasn't  gone  to  a  matinee 


ig8      A  DAUGHTER  OF  THE  REVOLUTION 

this  afternoon,"  he  said,  when  he  returned 
from  his  office  the  day  after  the  ball;  "I'll 
try  it  anyway."  Mr.  De  Witt,  therefore, 
walked  the  short  distance  from  the  Club  to 
the  Madison  Avenue  house.  He  was  soon 
made  happy  to  hear  from  Francois  that  Mrs. 
Conway  was  at  home. 

Louise  sent  for  him  to  come  upstairs  into 
the  Louis  Seize  drawing-room,  where  she  was 
half-reclining  on  a  chaise-longue,  her  pale 
green  crepe-de-chine  tea-gown  blending  ar- 
tistically with  the  pink  and  white  striped  up- 
holstery of  the  sofa  and  falling  in  voluminous 
folds  to  the  floor. 

Louise,  after  telling  Frangois  that  she 
would  receive  Mr.  De  Witt  here,  glanced  into 
the  mirror  opposite;  and,  noticing  that  her 
pose  was  graceful,  did  not  stir  as  her  visitor 
entered.  Holding  out  her  hand,  she  said 
smilingly:  "I  thought  you  would  come  this 
afternoon;  that's  why  I  didn't  go  out.  Draw 
up  a  chair.  No;  not  that  one!  Take  a  more 
comfortable  one.  No;  not  that,  either. 
Bring  the  arm-chair.  Yes;  now  you  are  all 
right.  You  men  are  so  silly.  You  never 
know  how  to  make  yourselves  comfortable. 
What  would  you  do  without  us?" 


AN  AFTERNOON  CALL  199 

"We  wouldn't  do,"  replied  Mr.  De  Witt, 
fitting  his  back  into  the  curves  of  the  chair 
and  sinking  complacently  into  its  downy 
depths.  "Ah!  this  is  comfortable!" 

"Now,  if  you  light  a  cigarette,"  said  Louise, 
handing  him  the  little  silver  tray  that  stood 
on  the  small  table  near  her,  with  its  pile  of 
cigarettes  and  convenient  match-box,  "your 
happiness  will  be  complete." 

"Not  entirely,"  said  Mr.  De  Witt. 

"Ungrateful  man!"  exclaimed  Louise. 
"What  more  can  you  want?  And  with  me  to 
entertain  you,  too!  Here,  give  me  one  of 
your  cigarettes.  I  like  them  so  much  better 
than  my  own.  Thank  you!  Now,  then,  we 
can  talk.  Prepare  to  be  brilliant,  Phil,  and 
tell  me  a  story  as  good  as  either  one  of  those 
you  told  last  night.  I  wish  you  would  talk 
more.  You  are  always  clever  when  you  do 
talk;  but  you  are  so  outrageously  quiet,  as  a 
rule." 

"I'm  not  going  to  talk  while  you  are  ca- 
ressing that  little  beast  of  a  dog,"  said  Mr. 
De  Witt. 

"Oh,  indeed!"  laughed  Louise.  "Love  me, 
love  my  dog!"  and  with  that  she  stopped 
stroking  her  little  Pekinese,  and  holding  him 


200      A  DAUGHTER  OF  THE  REVOLUTION 

up  to  her  face  kissed  him  violently,  talking 
as  follows: 

"Darling  Pompon,  don't  listen  to  that  nasty 
man  (kiss-kiss).  Don't  let  him  hurt  your 
dear  little  feelings  (kiss-kiss).  We'll  send 
him  away,  if  he  talks  like  this  (kiss-kiss). 
Yes,  Pompon  darling,  he's  a  horrid,  nasty,  big 
and  burly  brute  of  a  man  (kiss-kiss)  " 

"Louise,  you  make  me  sick!"  said  Mr.  De 
Witt,  flicking  the  ashes  from  his  cigarette. 

Louise  laughed,  "Why  don't  you  go  home, 
then?" 

"I  would  if  I  hadn't  come  to  talk  over 
something  important." 

"Oh,  I  hate  important  things!"  cried  Lou- 
ise. "Let's  be  frivolous.  That's  the  trouble 
with  you,  you  are  always  so  serious." 

"Things  are  growing  serious,"  said  Mr.  De 
Witt. 

"What  do  you  mean,  Phil?"  asked  Louise 
in  a  changed  voice,  raising  her  eyebrows  and 
looking  thoughtfully  at  the  cigarette  between 
her  beautifully  manicured  and  jeweled  fin- 
gers. 

"This  is  what  I  mean,"  he  replied.  "I'll 
put  it  in  the  form  of  a  question.  Have  you 
noticed  Jack's  interest  in  Mildred  Ashton?" 


AN  AFTERNOON  CALL  201 

"Why,  of  course,"  replied  Louise,  "that's 
nothing  new.  You're  in  an  antediluvian 
mood.  You're  horrid  this  afternoon.  First, 
you  are  cross  to  my  darling  Pompon  and  then 
you  quote  ancient  history.  Two  crimes 
within  ten  minutes!  What  will  you  do 
next?" 

"Louise,  be  serious  for  a  moment  and  listen 
to  me.  It's  important.  I  think  Jack's  and 
Mildred's  attachment  can  be  made  useful  to 
us, — do  you  understand?" 

Louise  laid  her  cigarette  on  the  tray. 

"What  do  you  mean?"  she  asked. 

"I  needn't  put  it  any  plainer.  You're  over 
twenty-one." 

"Oh,  no!"  she  said.  "Not  Mildred.  Mil- 
dred never  would  allow  anything  of  the 
kind." 

"She  wouldn't!"  retorted  Mr.  De  Witt, 
ironically.  "Humph!" 

"No,  not  Mildred  Ashton.  I  know  her  too 
well." 

"I  know  better,"  said  Mr.  De  Witt.  "Mil- 
dred Ashton  is  in  love  with  Jack,  and  Jack's 
in  love  with  her.  They've  got  an  understand- 
ing between  them.  Let  us  make  the  most  of 
it." 


202      A  DAUGHTER  OF  THE  REVOLUTION 

"Oh,  Phil!"  exclaimed  Louise,  reproach- 
fully. 

"I  can  bring  you  proofs,"  said  he,  "and  I 
will." 

"Oh,  you  are  mistaken,  Phil,"  said  Louise. 
"Mildred  is  my  friend.  Even  if  I  were  to 
divorce  Jack — as  we  have  so  often  talked 
about — she  would  never  consent  to  marrying 
a  divorce.  I  know  her  views.  I  have  heard 
her  talk.  Moreover,  I  know  her  character. 
Besides,"  she  added,  "Mildred  is  going  to 
marry  Gilbert  Greene." 

"Who  said  so?"  asked  Mr.  De  Witt. 

"Nobody." 

"Then  how  do  you  know?"  asked  Mr.  De 
Witt. 

"How  idiotic  you  are!  Don't  ask  a  woman 
to  explain  how  she  knows  anything,  or 
nothing.  We  know  things  intuitively — we 
have  a  peculiar  sense  of  intuition — and  I  know 
— but  I  don't  know  how  I  know — that  Mil- 
dred Ashton  is  going  to  marry  Gilbert 
Greene." 

"Nonsense!"  said  Mr.  De  Witt. 

"Phil,  I  thought  you  had  sharp  eyes  and 
saw  everything.  Do  you  mean  to  say  that  you 


AN  AFTERNOON  CALL  203 

haven't  noticed  how  crazy  Gilbert  Greene  is 
over  Mildred?" 

"No,"  said  Phil  De  Witt.  "Greene  always 
behaves  like  that  with  all  women.  I  don't 
see  anything  unusual  in  his  attentions  to  Mil- 
dred." 

"I  see  something  very  unusual  in  the  look 
in  his  eyes  for  her.  He  doesn't  look  at  me, 
for  instance,  with  that  love-light  that  he 
has  for  Mildred.  I  tell  you,  Phil,  Gilbert 
Greene  is  in  love  with  Mildred;  and  she  is 
in  love  with  him  and  doesn't  know  it." 

"What  rot  you  are  talking,  Louise!  How 
could  such  a  thing  be  possible?  That's  non- 
sense, perfect  nonsense!" 

"No,  it  isn't,"  said  Louise.  "Jack  thinks  so, 
too.  He  said  so  when  we  got  home  from  the 
ball  last  night." 

"Jack  said  that!"  cried  Mr.  De  Witt. 
"Humph!  I  tell  you  Mildred  Ashton  is  in 
love  with  Jack.  That's  the  reason  why  she 
stayed  away  from  this  house  for  so  long.  I 
noticed  it  at  supper  at  Sherry's  that  night  after 
the  opera.  They  were  both  agitated  when 
they  came  in;  they  didn't  eat  anything;  and 
they  didn't  look  at  one  another.  Then,  at  din- 


204      A  DAUGHTER  OF  THE  REVOLUTION 

ner  last  night  they  carefully  avoided  one  an- 
other's eyes;  and  Jack  went  out  of  his  way  to 
be  unnecessarily  gracious  to  Mildred." 

"There's  nothing  in  it,"  said  Louise.  "I 
tell  you  that  if  Mildred  doesn't  love  Gilbert 
Greene  now,  she  will  in  time.  /  know  women. 
What  do  you  think!  I'm  one,  myself." 

"Well,  at  any  rate,"  said  De  Witt,  "we 
could  use  it.  I  have  several  little  bits  of  evi- 
dence that  would  be  very  annoying  even  to  an 
expert  lawyer:  he  would  have  much  to  prove." 

"No,"  said  Louise,  "Phil,  I  won't  let  you 
use  Mildred  in  this  matter.  I  have  told  you 
that  if  the  right  time  comes  when  I  can  get  a 
divorce — comfortably — I  may  marry  you. 
There  is  no  especial  hurry.  The  time  will 
come.  I  think  Jack  will  go  away — I  think  he 
is  planning  to  go  now — and  desertion  would 
be  quite  good  enough.  Oh,  good  heavens! 
it's  six  o'clock!  Phil,  you  must  go.  Jack  and 
I  are  dining  out  to-night.  I  have  barely  time 
to  dress.  Run  along,  Phil.  Come  here  and 
kiss  Pompon  good-bye:  he  wants  to  forgive 
you  for  being  so  horrid  and  to  show  that  he 
bears  you  no  malice." 

"I'll  do  nothing  of  the  kind,"  replied  Mr. 
De  Witt,  indignantly,  as  he  rose. 


AN  AFTERNOON  CALL  205 

"Come  in  to-morrow  at  the  same  time," 
said  Louise,  kissing  Pompon's  little  silky  ears. 

"I  don't  know  whether  I  will,  or  not,"  re- 
plied Mr.  De  Witt,  leaving  the  room  without 
looking  back. 

"I  know  you  will,"  I^ouise  called  after  him. 


CHAPTER  XVIII 

IN  WASHINGTON 

MILDRED  was  only  too  glad  that  she  had 
accepted  the  invitation  of  the  two  Miss 
Swanns  to  accompany  them  to  Washington  to 
the  Twenty-first  Continental  Congress  of  the 
Daughters  of  the  American  Revolution.  She 
thought  the  little  trip  and  the  change  of  scene 
might  restore  her  nerves,  which  had  been  so 
shaken.  She  was  delighted,  therefore,  when 
the  appointed  day  came  for  their  departure. 

On  arriving  in  Washington,  the  four  travel- 
lers (for  Cora  was  included,  of  course)  were 
soon  comfortably  settled  in  the  New  Willard 
Hotel,  prepared  to  spend  the  forthcoming 
week.  They  met  so  many  friends  and  re- 
ceived so  many  callers  that  Sunday  passed  like 
a  dream. 

Miss  Hatty  Swann  went  to  the  preliminary 
meeting  on  Monday  morning;  but  Miss  Jessie 
suggested  that  she  should  take  Mildred  sight- 
seeing. Consequently,  Mildred  and  Miss  Jes- 

ao6 


IN  WASHINGTON  207 

sie  spent  the  morning  visiting  the  Capitol  and 
other  public  buildings  and  joined  Miss  Hatty 
at  luncheon,  after  which  all  three  went  to  the 
formal  opening  of  the  Congress. 

Memorial  Continental  Hall  struck  Mildred 
as  imposing.  The  auditorium  was  a  fine  sight 
with  its  decorations  of  flags  and  spring  flow- 
ers and  the  large  assemblage  of  well-dressed 
women.  The  insignia  of  the  Daughters  was 
placed  above  the  stage ;  and  at  the  back  of  the 
stage  hung  three  impressive  historical  paint- 
ings. 

Very  soon  after  Mildred  and  her  hostesses 
were  seated,  President  Taft  entered  through 
the  Memorial  South  Portico  and  took  his 
place  on  the  platform,  where  the  officers  of 
the  society  and  their  distinguished  guests  were 
already  grouped.  At  the  same  moment  the 
big  flag  was  unfurled  from  the  centre  of  the 
domed  ceiling,  while  the  two  thousand  women 
with  their  men  guests  waved  their  handker- 
chiefs in  greeting  and  the  Marine  Band,  sta- 
tioned in  the  adjoining  Museum,  added  to 
the  general  excitement  by  playing  patriotic 
airs. 

President  Taft  made  a  genial  speech,  in 
which  he  laid  emphasis  on  the  pleasure  he  had 


2o8     A  DAUGHTER  OF  THE  REVOLUTION 

of  welcoming  the  beauties  of  the  Spring  and 
the  beauties  of  the  Daughters  together.  He 
reminded  the  latter  that  they  had  gathered  to 
stimulate  the  memories  of,  and  the  respect  for, 
those  men  who  made  this  nation  possible  and 
who  laid  broad  its  foundation  in  the  Constitu- 
tion of  the  United  States ;  and  that  one  of  the 
motives  for  the  existence  of  the  society  was  to 
uphold  the  principles  of  that  Constitution  and 
to  insist  on  their  preservation  as  long  as  the  na- 
tion shall  endure. 

Then  followed  the  address  by  the  President- 
General,  Mrs.  Matthew  T.  Scott,  which  gave 
Mildred  a  more  definite  idea  of  the  signifi- 
cance of  the  society  than  she  had  previously 
had. 

Mildred  had  never  attended  an  assembly  of 
this  kind;  and  every  detail  of  the  procedure 
interested  her,  as  well  as  the  addresses.  The 
two  Miss  Swanns  presented  their  guest  to 
many  of  the  ladies,  whose  faces  Mildred  re- 
membered when  she  saw  them  again  that  even- 
ing at  the  large  reception  given  in  Memorial 
Hall. 

At  the  meeting  next  day,  when  various  gifts 
were  presented  to  the  Museum,  such  as  John 
Hancock's  desk,  a  lamp  from  the  Battleship 


IN  WASHINGTON  209 

and  a  loving-cup  that  General  Wash- 
ington had  given  to  Mrs.  Alexander,  Mildred 
turned  to  Miss  Hatty  Swann  and  said:  "I 
think  I  will  contribute  something,  too.  I 
have  a  great  many  Revolutionary  relics  at 
home.  There  is  an  old  powder-horn  that  be- 
longed to  Light  Horse  Harry  Lee;  I  have  my 
great-great-grandfather's  sword  and  his  blue 
and  buff  uniform ;  I  have  two  or  three  old  cos- 
tumes,— and  I  don't  know  what  else  besides. 
I  should  like  to  have  some  of  my  family  things 
here." 

"Why  don't  you?"  Miss  Hatty  replied.  "I 
think  that  is  a  splendid  idea,"  and  then  turn- 
ing to  her  sister,  "Jessie,"  said  Miss  Hatty, 
"we  have  brought  in  a  valuable  member. 
Miss  Ashton  is  going  to  give  some  relics  to  the 
Museum." 

Miss  Jessie,  leaning  forward,  looked  at  Mil- 
dred and  smiled.  "I  knew  she  would  become 
one  of  us,"  she  said. 

As  the  other  meetings  were  devoted  to  busi- 
ness matters,  Mildred  preferred  to  continue 
her  sight-seeing.  Her  hostesses,  therefore, 
left  her  to  her  own  devices. 

On  Thursday  morning,  as  she  was  crossing 
Fourteenth  Street  and  Pennsylvania  Avenue, 


2io     A  DAUGHTER  OF  THE  REVOLUTION 

she  heard  a  voice  behind  her  exclaim  in  a  tone 
of  surprise:  "Why,  Miss  Ashton,  how  do 
you  do?" 

"Why,  Mr.  Greene!"  Mildred  exclaimed 
with  a  smile.  "Where  did  you  come  from?" 

"New  York,"  he  answered.  "Yesterday. 
What  are  you  doing  here?" 

"I  came  with  some  friends — the  two  Miss 
Swanns — to  the  Congress  of  the  Daughters  of 
the  American  Revolution.  We  arrived  on 
Saturday.  What  are  you  doing  here?" 

"Oh,  I  came  down  on  business,"  replied 
Gilbert.  "I  am  going  to  build  a  house  on 
New  Hampshire  Avenue  for  a  western  Sena- 
tor; and  I  ran  down  to  look  at  the  site." 

"When  are  you  going  back  to  New  York?" 

"I  was  going,"  Gilbert  replied,  "this  after- 
noon at  three  o'clock;  but  I  have  changed  my 
mind  since  I  have  met  you.  I  don't  know 
when  I  shall  go  now.  How  long  are  you  go- 
ing to  be  here?" 

"Until  Saturday,"  answered  Mildred;  "but 
we  are  going  to  spend  Sunday  in  Baltimore." 

"Where  are  you  going  now?"  Gilbert  in- 
quired. "But  wait  a  minute  before  you  an- 
swer," he  continued,  taking  hold  of  her  arm 
gently  and  leading  her  to  the  sidewalk,  "if  you 


IN  WASHINGTON  211 

stand  in  this  dangerous  place,  you  won't  be  go- 
ing anywhere." 

"You'd  better  say  I'll  be  taking  a  long  jour- 
ney," laughed  Mildred,  "to 

'The  undiscovered  country,  from  whose  bourn 
No  traveller  returns.'  > 

It  is  a  dangerous  spot." 

"It's  as  bad  as  anything  in  New  York,"  said 
Gilbert,  "particularly  as  you  are  not  apt  to  be 
on  your  guard  here.  You  are  not  going  to  be 
run  over  while  I  am  with  you." 

"Then  I  suppose  I  can  be  run  over  as  much 
as  I  like  when  you  are  not  with  me?  Is  that 
it?"  queried  Mildred. 

"I  should  think  once  would  satisfy  you,"  re- 
plied Gilbert.  "But  that  once  is  not  going  to 
be  to-day,  anyhow.  Come,  let  us  go  into  La- 
fayette Square  and  look  at  the  fine,  old  trees. 
It  is  such  a  beautiful  square!  I  remember  it 
as  long  as  I  can  remember  anything.  I  used 
to  visit  relatives  in  Washington  when  K,  H, 
and  I  Streets  were  the  chief  centres  of  fashion- 
able life  and  Washington  was  a  little  place." 

"It's  my  first  visit,"  said  Mildred. 

"Oh,  is  it?     Have  you  seen  all  the  sights?" 

"The  principal  ones,"  Mildred  answered. 


212     A  DAUGHTER  OF  THE  REVOLUTION 

"Can't  I  take  you  somewhere  that  you 
haven't  been?"  asked  Gilbert.  "What  about 
Arlington?  Suppose  I  call  for  you  this  after- 
noon and  we'll  motor  down." 

"I'd  love  to  go,"  said  Mildred,  "but  I  have 
an  engagement.  We  are  going  to  President 
and  Mrs.  Taft's  reception  to  the  Daughters." 

"How  about  to-morrow?" 

"Yes ;  I  can  go  to-morrow." 

"All  right,  then,"  answered  Gilbert. 
"We'll  go  to-morrow.  I'll  call  for  you  about 
three  o'clock.  Aren't  those  forsythias  lovely? 
They  are  quite  special  to  Washington:  they 
are  all  over  the  city.  I  love  them." 

"Yes,"  answered  Mildred.  "I  was  struck 
with  them  the  first  thing." 

"This  is  the  time  to  see  Washington,"  said 
Gilbert.  "Spring  in  Washington  is  perfect." 

The  four-mile  drive  to  Arlington  on  Friday 
afternoon  was  delightful.  The  great  white 
dome  of  the  Capitol  in  the  distance  was  the 
chief  feature  of  the  landscape  and  reminded 
Gilbert  and  Mildred  all  the  while  that  they 
were  in  Washington.  The  house  with  its 
massive  columns  impressed  the  New  York  vis- 
itors as  noble  but  melancholy  and  wonderfully 


IN  WASHINGTON  213 

adapted  to  its  present  purpose.  The  desola- 
tion of  the  rooms,  devoid  of  furniture  and  life, 
depressed  them  both. 

As  they  wandered  about  the  beautiful 
grounds  on  this  sunny  April  afternoon,  the 
sound  of  a  muffled  drum  was  heard  and  soon 
the  Marine  Band  was  sben  advancing  along 
the  road  with  slow  tread  marked  by  the  solemn 
measures  of  Chopin's  Funeral  March. 

"Why,"  exclaimed  Gilbert,  "this  must  be 
the  ceremonial  cortege  for  General  Phil 
Kearney.  I  had  forgotten  that  his  body  was 
to  be  brought  to  Arlington  this  afternoon. 
Do  you  want  to  stay?" 

"Why,  yes,"  replied  Mildred,  "we  might 
stand  here  for  a  moment  and  watch  the  pro- 


cession." 


"Here's  a  shady  spot,  then,"  Gilbert  an- 
swered. "It  is  awfully  hot.  There  is  a  little 
breeze  here.  The  papers  said  that  President 
Taft  was  to  make  an  address.  I  think  that  is 
he  in  that  carriage  just  entering  the  driveway." 

They  stood  in  silence  until  the  band  and  the 
carriages  had  passed.  Then  Gilbert  asked: 
"Do  you  have  to  be  back  at  any  particular 
time?" 


214     A  DAUGHTER  OF  THE  REVOLUTION 

"No,"  said  Mildred.  "I  have  no  engage- 
ment for  this  evening." 

"Then  we  will  take  a  little  longer  drive." 

"I'll  be  delighted  to,  Mr.  Greene,"  Mildred 
responded. 

"It  must  have  been  a  pleasure  to  you,  Miss 
Ashton,  to  have  seen  the  old  Lee  house,"  said 
Gilbert,  as  the  motor  whirled  out  of  the 
grounds. 

"Arlington  isn't  the  Lee  homestead,  Mr. 
Greene,"  Mildred  replied.  "It  is  the  Custis 
house.  It  was  the  home  of  George  Washing- 
ton Parke  Custis,  whose  daughter  married 
General  Robert  E.  Lee.  Their  wedding  took 
place  here.  The  Lee  homestead  is  Strat- 
ford, in  Westmoreland  County.  Light  Horse 
Harry  was  my  ancestor." 

"How  strange !"  exclaimed  Gilbert.  "Light 
Horse  Harry  Lee  was  a  fellow-soldier  and 
great  friend  of  my  ancestor,  General  Greene 
— General  Nathanael  Greene." 

"Are  you  descended  from  General  Greene?" 
asked  Mildred. 

"Yes,"  replied  Gilbert. 

"Then  I  shall  say  how  strange,  too,"  said 
Mildred.  "To  think  that  our  ancestors  were 
friends!" 


IN  WASHINGTON  215 

"Light  Horse  Harry  Lee  died  on  General 
Greene's  estate,  or  his  daughter's,  I  forget 
which,  in  Georgia.  Perhaps  you  remember 
that  General  Greene  had  estates  given  to  him 
in  Georgia  and  South  Carolina.  He  was  de- 
voted to  Mulberry  Grove.  Anthony  Wayne, 
'Mad  Anthony  Wayne,N  had  the  plantation 
next  to  him." 

"Isn't  it  strange,"  said  Mildred,  "to  think 
that  we  have  known  each  other  for  several 
months  and  never  discovered  that  we  had  Rev- 
olutionary ancestors  who  were  friends.  We 
might  call  ours  an  inherited  friendship.  We 
are  quite  historical, — aren't  we?" 

"You  see,"  replied  Gilbert,  "occasions  like 
these  patriotic  gatherings  bring  out  such 
things.  People  naturally  talk  of  their  ances- 
tors and  interesting  coincidences  are  brought 
to  light." 

"Yes;  and  other  curious  things  happen," 
said  Mildred.  "For  instance,  I  witnessed  a 
very  nice  little  scene  the  other  day  in  Memo- 
rial Hall.  The  meeting  had  come  to  an  end 
and  we  were  on  the  platform,  where  many  of 
the  ladies  had  gathered  to  speak  to  their 
friends.  One  of  them  was  making  some  re- 
marks about  three  large  paintings  of  histori- 


cal  scenes  on  the  wall  at  the  back  of  the  stage 
—suddenly  a  gentleman  rose  from  a  seat  in 
the  hall  and  said  politely  to  one  of  the  Daugh- 
ters, 'Perhaps,  madam,  it  might  interest  you 
to  know  that  the  artist  is  here.  Allow  me 
to  introduce  Mr.  Millard  Brown.'  An  el- 
derly lady,  overhearing  this,  stepped  forward 
and  said:  'Why,  as  I  am  alive,  it  is  Mil- 
lard  Brown.'  She  extended  an  eager  hand. 
'Don't  you  remember  me,  Millard — and  the 
old  art  days  in  Paris,  thirty- four  years  ago?' 
The  old  white-haired  gentleman  rose  and 
looked  into  the  lady's  face,  with  an  embar- 
rassed and  uncertain  expression.  Then  sud- 
denly his  memory  lighted  up.  'Why  yes,  yes !' 
he  exclaimed.  'It  is  Martha  Trowbridge. 
Bless  me — my  dear.  You  are  alive  and  well, 
and  I  haven't  seen  you  or  your  good  people 
these  many,  many  years.'  He  was  very  much 
overcome — in  fact  they  both  were.  He  took 
both  of  her  hands  in  his.  Then  he  said  'How 
strange  to  meet  again  and  in  this  way!'  Their 
eyes  were  full  of  tears.  Wasn't  that  extraor- 
dinary?" 

"It  only  proves  once  again,  that  life  is 
stranger  than  fiction,"  Gilbert  observed 
thoughtfully. 


IN  WASHINGTON  217 

"I  wonder,"  Mildred  mused,  "if  you  would 
know  me  if  thirty-four  years  were  to  pass 
without  our  seeing  each  other  and  we  were  to 
meet  unexpectedly  like  that." 

"I  think  so,"  replied  Gilbert,  emphatically. 
"Only  I  would  never  let  thirty-four  years  go 
by  without  seeing  you.  \That's  too  long  be- 
tween calls." 

"Perhaps  we  have  another  binding  link  in 
the  Revolution,"  said  Mildred.  "My  great- 
great-grandfather,  Major  Ashton,  fought  un- 
der General  Washington,  too.  He  was  in 
the  retreat  from  Long  Island;  but  I  don't 
know  whether  he  served  under  Putnam,  or 
Greene." 

"That  is  interesting,  too,"  replied  Gilbert. 

"I  must  look  through  my  family  papers," 
said  Mildred.  "It  would  be  strange  if  I  were 
to  find  some  letters  from  your  ancestor,  to  my 
great-great-grandfather  among  them." 

"Yes,  it  would,"  Gilbert  agreed. 

"I  am  going  home  when  I  return  to  New 
York;  and,  if  I  should  find  anything,  I  will 
send  it  to  you.  I  wish  you  could  see  my  old 
house,  Mr.  Greene.  You  would  love  it.  All 
architects  rave  over  it.  It  is  much  like  the 
Morris-Jumel  house  in  New  York." 


2i8     A  DAUGHTER  OF  THE  REVOLUTION 

"That's  a  charming  house  1"  exclaimed  Gil- 
bert. 

"Our  old  gardens  are  still  in  existence,  Mr. 
Greene,  and  they  really  are  wonderful.  You 
should  see  our  Rosary!  Unfortunately,  I 
have  had  to  rent  my  old  home,  so  I  can't  invite 
you  to  see  it,  as  I  should  love  to  do." 

"The  invitation  is  something  anyhow,"  said 
Gilbert.  "Thank  you." 

"The  lease  expires  next  November,"  contin- 
ued Mildred ;  "but  Mr.  Carpenter,  my  lawyer, 
thinks  the  tenants  will  want  to  renew  it.  I 
leave  everything  to  him.  I  wish  I  could  show 
you  the  portrait  of  my  great-great  grand- 
father, Major  John  Ashton,  in  his  buff  and 
blue  uniform.  It  is  painted  by  Gilbert  Stuart. 
His  wife's  portrait  was  also  painted  by  Stuart. 
There  is  a  family  tradition  that  she  had  some 
very  romantic  love-affair;  but  nobody  knows 
just  what  it  was.  Then  she  married  her 
cousin,  Major  John  Ashton;  and  they  were 
very  happy.  People  say  I  look  like  her.  I 
wonder  if  you'd  think  so!" 

"I  should  like  to  see  her  portrait  very 
much,"  Gilbert  replied.  r<Was  she — was  she 
— as  pretty  as  you  are?" 


IN  WASHINGTON  219 

"Oh,  Mr.  Greene,"  protested  Mildre'd,  with 
a  merry  laugh.  "There's  nothing  subtle  about 
you." 

As  Gilbert  handed  Mildred  out  of  the  car, 
he  said:  "You  say  you  have  no  engagement 
this  evening.  May  I  call  and  bring  a  friend 
of  mine — Percy  Maude-Edgerley?  He  is  an 
attache  of  the  British  Legation.  I  think  you 
would  like  to  know  him ;  and  I  am  sure  he  will 
be  delighted  to  meet  you.  I  am  dining  with 
him  to-night." 

"I'll  be  charmed,"  responded  Mildred; 
"and  I'll  be  so  pleased  to  introduce  you  to  the 
two  Miss  Swanns.  You'll  fall  in  love  with 
both  of  them.  /  have.  I  want  you  to  know 
them." 

"Then  it's  au  revoir"  said  Gilbert,  holding 
out  his  hand,  from  which  he  had  quickly 
drawn  the  glove. 

"Yes,  au  revoir"  replied  Mildred,  who  did 
not  seem  to  object  to  the  fact  that  he  kept  her 
hand  in  his  a  little  longer  than  was  conven- 
tional. 

The  two  Miss  Swanns  were  delighted  when 
Mildred  told  them  of  the  callers  who  were 
coming  that  evening;  and  Miss  Hatty  imme- 


220     A  DAUGHTER  OF  THE  REVOLUTION 

diately  ordered  Cora  to  set  a  small  table  for 
the  cake  and  sherry  she  purposed  handing  to 
the  guests. 

Mildred  saw  at  a  glance  how  charmed  Miss 
Hatty  and  Miss  Jessie  were  with  Gilbert 
Greene  and  how  they  met  with  his  approval 
also.  Miss  Jessie  was  very  much  pleased  with 
the  diplomat,  who  took  a  seat  near  Mildred 
and  waited  for  her  to  open  the  conversation. 

"What  a  contrast  to  Bernard  Fogg!" 
thought  Mildred,  as  she  contemplated  the  tall, 
athletic  figure  of  Mr.  Maude-Edgerley,  who 
was  sitting  in  an  easy  and  indifferent  pose. 
What  a  typical  Englishman  he  was,  with  his 
light  hair,  sandy  moustache,  clear,  round,  blue 
eyes,  and  pink  and  white  complexion.  How 
differently,  too,  Mr.  Maude-Edgerley  talked 
from  Bernard  Fogg.  Mr.  Maude-Edgerley 
spoke  from  his  throat  in  cool,  well-measured 
and  musical  tones — not  on  the  edge  of  his  lips, 
as  Mildred  noted  with  satisfaction.  The 
slight  cadence  that  Mildred  found  so  charm- 
ing was  not  an  affectation:  it  told  the  story 
that  the  Londoner  had  not  been  long  in  this 
country.  The  range  of  his  vocabulary  was 
wide  and  his  piquant  adjectives — a  man  is 
known  by  the  adjectives  he  keeps — were 


IN  WASHINGTON  aai 

i 

chosen  with  that  taste  which  is  the  prerogative 
of  the  person  of  culture. 

Observant  and  alert,  a  polite  listener  and 
quick  of  repartee,  Mr.  Maude-Edgerley  soon, 
and  without  trying  to  do  so,  made  his  pres- 
ence agreeably  felt.  Although  he  was  not 
what  one  would  describe  as  a  brilliant  conver- 
sationalist, when  he  made  a  remark  it  came 
from  a  storehouse  of  knowledge  and  informa- 
tion, so  whatever  he  said  was  worthy  of  atten- 
tion. An  Oxford  graduate,  a  traveller,  a 
scholar  and  a  gentleman  of  breeding,  Mr. 
Maude-Edgerley  was  a  splendid  example  of 
the  kind  of  men  Great  Britain  sends  to  repre- 
sent her  in  foreign  countries. 

"What  a  pity,"  thought  Mildred,  "that  Ber- 
nard Fogg  is  the  idea  most  people  have  of  an 
Englishman!  Now  I  begin  to  understand 
why  it  is  that  Englishmen  systematically  avoid 
each  other  when  they  have  nothing  in  com- 


mon." 


Mr.  Maude-Edgerley  was  surprised  to 
learn  that  Mildred  did  not  know  London,  al- 
though she  had  been  on  the  Continent  several 
times. 

"Oh,  you  must  come  to  London,"  he  said, 
"and  when  you  do,  you  must  let  me  show  you 


222     A  DAUGHTER  OF  THE  REVOLUTION 

London.  You  must  see  London,"  he  added, 
"  'the  most  wonderful  and  awful  of  cities,'  as 
Steevens  puts  it." 

"I  suppose  you  know  every  inch  of  it,"  said 
Mildred. 

"No,  Miss  Ashton,"  the  Londoner  replied. 
"Nobody  knows  London.  You  might  spend 
your  whole  life  studying  it  and  you  would 
never  know  it.  It  is  unthinkably  vast.  Of 
course,  in  one  sense,"  he  added,  "I  know  Lon- 
don very  well — parts  of  it — the  West  End, 
Westminster  and  the  City.  I  know  the  City 
very  well.  I  should  like  to  take  you  about  in 
the  City  to  see  some  of  the  fine  old  churches 
and  the  Guildhall.  You  know  the  Guildhall, 
don't  you,  Greene?" 

"Oh,  yes,"  said  Greene,  delighted  to  be 
drawn  into  the  conversation.  "Fine  old 
building  with  a  glorious  timber  roof.  I  re- 
member the  pigeons — almost  as  many  as  at  St. 
Mark's  in  Venice — and  how  they  come  flutter- 
ing down  out  of  the  cool,  blue  shadows !  I  re- 
member Gog  and  Magog,  too." 

"What  are  they?"  asked  Mildred. 

"Two  enormous,  wooden  giants,"  explained 
Mr.  Maude-Edgerley.  "They  used  to  be  car- 
ried in  the  procession  on  Lord  Mayor's  Day; 


IN  WASHINGTON  223 

and,  according  to  the  prophecy  of  Mother 
Shipton,  'when  they  fall,  London  will  fall.'  I 
go  to  the  Guildhall  very  often,"  added  Mr. 
Maude-Edgerley.  "I  am  writing  a  book  on 
old  London  tavern  signs.  There  is  quite  a  col- 
lection of  them  in  the  Guildhall;  and  there  is 
also  a  valuable  library  relating  to  the  history 
of  London.  I  do  a  great  deal  of  research 
there.  The  study  of  Old  London  is  one  of  my 
diversions." 

"What  are  the  others?"  asked  Mildred. 

"Cricket,"  replied  Mr.  Maude-Edgerley, 
"and  golf." 

Gilbert  rose  to  go.  "Now  you  really  must 
come  to  London,  Miss  Ashton,"  Mr.  Maude- 
Edgerley  said,  as  he  also  rose,  "and  when  you 
do,  I  shall  be  deeply  wounded  if  you  do  not 
drop  me  a  line  and  let  me  show  London  to 
you.  We  must  have  tea  at  Hurlingham,  too. 
That's  a  definite  engagement,  I  hope." 

Miss  Hatty,  Miss  Jessie  and  Mildred  talked 
for  some  time  about  their  guests  with  the  ac- 
companiment of  an  additional  glass  of  sherry 
and  the  remains  of  the  cake.  When  the  two 
Miss  Swanns  bade  Mildred  good-night  and 
went  to  their  respective  rooms,  each  was  soon 
dreaming  out  a  pretty  romance  for  Mildred. 


224     A  DAUGHTER  OF  THE  REVOLUTION 

Miss  Hatty  put  Mildred  and  Gilbert 
Greene  through  a  series  of  complicated  ad- 
ventures; and,  according  to  the  annoying 
method  of  dreams,  as  each  adventure  was 
about  to  end  happily,  a  new  catastrophe  arose. 
Finally,  the  distracted  and  sympathetic  Miss 
Hatty  awoke  in  tears. 

Miss  Jessie,  on  the  other  hand,  saw  pictures 
of  an  ancient  English  half-timbered  house 
with  many  peaked  gables  and  lovely  gardens 
and  lawns  sweeping  to  the  Thames  and  also 
of  a  London  house.  In  both  of  these  Mildred 
was  presiding.  Miss  Jessie  had  just  ended  a 
delightful  week  in  the  country  house  and  was 
half-way  through  a  ceremonious  dinner  in 
Park  Lane,  when  the  butler  with  the  pow- 
dered hair  and  splendid  livery  suddenly  turned 
into  the  more  familiar  person  of  Cora,  who 
was  entering  the  room  with  Miss  Jessie's  early 
morning  cup  of  coffee. 


CHAPTER  XIX 

AN  OLD  WORK-BOX 

IT  was  not  until  two  months  after  her  re- 
turn to  New  York  that  Mildred  was  able 
to  arrange  a  brief  visit  to  Wild  Acres  to  look 
over  her  family  papers  and  select  the  articles 
she  wished  to  send  to  the  Museum  in  Wash- 
ington. 

In  reply  to  her  letter  asking  if  it  would  be 
possible  for  her  to  come  to  Wild  Acres  for  a 
few  days,  Mr.  Carpenter  informed  Mildred 
that  her  request  had  come  at  an  opportune 
time.  The  tenants  were  away  and  Mrs. 
O'Toole  was  taking  care  of  the  house.  Mil- 
dred could,  therefore,  come  any  day  she 
pleased.  Mr.  Carpenter  had  already  spoken 
to  Mrs.  O'Toole,  who  would  prepare  for  her 
arrival. 

Mildred  telephoned  Mr.  Carpenter  that  she 
would  run  down  on  the  following  day. 

Mildred  found  it  harder  than  she  expected 
to  be  back  at  Wild  Acres,  under  the  changed 
conditions.  She  decided  to  finish  her  errand 


226     A  DAUGHTER  OF  THE  REVOLUTION 

speedily  and  return  to  New  York.  It  was  too 
painful  to  remain  in  this  loved  spot.  Conse- 
quently, on  the  morning  following  her  arrival, 
she  went  into  the  attic  soon  after  breakfast. 

Unlocking  the  door,  which  had  not  been 
opened  since  she  left,  more  than  a  year  and  a 
half  ago,  Mildred  entered. 

"Oh!  how  hot  it  is!"  she  exclaimed,  as  a 
scorching  breath  of  air  rushed  at  her,  heavy 
with  that  peculiar  odor  that  one  finds  in  an 
old  attic  and  nowhere  else. 

The  attic  at  Wild  Acres,  like  all  other  old 
attics,  contained  the  possessions  of  the  present 
owners  and  the  relics  of  past  generations 
heaped  together  in  an  impartial  manner. 
Here  were  old  pieces  of  furniture — some  out 
of  repair — ;  old  brass  handles  and  key-plates; 
old  curtain  rods  and  rings;  broken  picture 
frames ;  odd  pieces  of  china  and  cut  glass ;  bags 
of  linen  and  cotton  of  all  sizes,  tied  tightly,  and 
containing  odds  and  ends  of  all  kinds;  great 
bundles,  firmly  pinned  and  displaying  neatly 
written  labels  of  their  contents;  and  innumer- 
able chests,  boxes  and  trunks  of  all  ages,  sizes 
and  varieties. 

Mildred's  first  care  was  to  open  the  circular 
window  in  the  gable,  to  let  in  some  light  and 


AN  OLD  WORK-BOX  227 

air.  As  she  did  this,  the  bumping  and  bang- 
ing and  whizzing  of  a  large  wasp  against  the 
pane  proved  that  her  action  was  appreciated 
by  an  unwilling  prisoner,  who,  spreading  his 
wings,  balanced  himself  delicately  for  half  a 
second  on  the  sill  and  darted  out  joyfully  into 
the  welcome  sunshine. 

The  sunlight  now  streamed  in  and  fell  upon 
the  group  of  chests  and  trunks  that  Mildred 
wanted  to  open. 

"I  think  the  costumes  are  in  that"  she  said, 
looking  at  a  big  oak  chest  decorated  with  black 
egg-shaped  lozenges  and  spindles. 

Taking  a  bunch  of  keys  from  the  small  bas- 
ket she  held  on  her  arm,  she  soon  found  the 
proper  key.  The  lock  turned. 

Yes ;  she  was  right.  This  was  the  chest  for 
costumes.  Now  she  found  the  old  blue  and 
buff  uniform  in  which  Major  Ashton's  por- 
trait, hanging  in  the  library,  downstairs  was 
painted  by  Gilbert  Stuart. 

"This  is  going  to  Washington,"  she  said,  lay- 
ing it  aside  to  be  packed. 

"I  believe  I  will  go  through  that  one,  too," 
she  said,  looking  at  a  big,  red  leather  trunk 
studded  with  brass  nails  in  a  quaint  pattern. 
"That  trunk  belonged  to  Dolly  Ashton,  my 


228     A  DAUGHTER  OF  THE  REVOLUTION 

great-great-grandmother.  I  wonder  which 
key  will  fit  it?  It  must  be  a  rather  small  one," 
she  added,  looking  at  the  lock. 

Kneeling  before  this  trunk,  Mildred  tried 
key  after  key;  but  not  one  would  do.  "This 
is  exasperating!"  she  exclaimed,  after  trying 
nearly  every  key  on  every  bunch.  "Now  I  am 
determined  to  get  into  this  trunk." 

She  tried  a  little  one  that  she  had  over- 
looked. "There!  At  last!"  she  cried,  as  the 
key  slipped  easily  into  the  lock,  which  gave 
an  accommodating  little  click.  "There!  I 
haven't  seen  inside  of  this  trunk  for  years!" 

Mildred  was  glad  to  renew  her  acquaintance 
with  the  contents.  Here  was  a  pink  and 
white  striped  silk  dress  with  little  sprigs  of 
flowers  scattered  over  it;  here  was  a  white 
quilted  satin  petticoat,  yellowed  by  time ;  here 
was  a  light  blue  and  silver  brocade ;  here  was  a 
muslin  gown  sprigged  with  silver;  here  was  a 
pair  of  pale  blue  satin  slippers  with  glittering 
paste  buckles  and  enormously  high  heels;  here 
was  a  faded  straw  hat,  wide  of  brim  and 
trimmed  with  yellow  gauze  ribbon  and  some 
tiny  silk  flowers ;  here  was  a  dress  of  lilac  lute- 
string silk  embroidered  with  little  silver  feath- 


AN  OLD  WORK-BOX  229 

ers;  here  were  several  rolls  of  rich  lace;  and 
here  were  three  beautiful  fans. 

When  all  these  things  lay  in  a  heap  on  the 
floor,  Mildred  picked  up  the  pink  and  white 
silk  as  she  rose  to  her  feet  and  held  it  before 
her.  "She  must  have  been  just  my  size.  / 
could  wear  this  dress.  She  had  pretty  clothes 
and  dainty  things.  Why,  I  believe  she  was 
painted  in  this  very  pink  and  white  silk." 

As  Mildred  knelt  down  again  before  the 
trunk  and  was  about  to  repack  the  things,  she 
noticed  that  what  she  thought  was  the  bottom 
was  a  secret  tray.  She  soon  discovered  how 
to  lift  this  up  and  out;  and,  to  her  surprise, 
here  she  found,  wrapped  in  an  old  green  silk 
cloak,  a  large  rosewood  box,  with  the  tiny  key 
in  the  lock. 

"I  must  examine  this,"  she  said,  "but  it  is 
too  hot  here.  I  will  take  it  downstairs." 

Tumbling  all  the  things  back  into  the  trunk, 
Mildred  shut  the  lid,  turned  the  key  and  went 
downstairs.  "I'll  take  this  out  on  the  veran- 
dah," she  said. 

Seating  herself  in  one  of  the  low  wicker 
chairs,  Mildred  placed  the  heavy  rosewood 
box  on  her  lap.  Then  she  paused  for  a  mo- 


230     A  DAUGHTER  OF  THE  REVOLUTION 

ment  to  admire  the  grain  of  the  wood;  the 
mother-of-pearl  inlay  that  ran  around  the 
edge,  forming  a  love-knot  at  each  corner;  and 
the  large,  square  slab  of  mother-of-pearl  that 
ornamented  the  centre  of  the  top  and  softly 
breathed  forth  tender  hues  of  rose  and  green 
beneath  its  milky  lustre.  She  turned  the  tiny 
key  and  raised  the  lid. 

"Lovely  I"  she  exclaimed,  as  her  glance  fell 
upon  the  delicate  light  blue  silk  crape  with 
which  it  was  lined. 

The  box  was  one  of  those  artistic  produc- 
tions of  the  late  Eighteenth  Century,  which, 
owing  to  careful  planning  and  deft  workman- 
ship, are  marvels  of  compactness,  convenience 
and  beauty.  A  little  lid,  covered  with  blue 
crape  and  bearing  in  its  centre  a  tiny  crown- 
shaped  knob  of  silver  filagree,  enclosed  each 
of  the  four  compartments  that  surrounded  a 
large  one  in  the  centre.  On  raising  the  first 
with  a  gentle,  reverent  touch,  Mildred  found 
beneath  it  a  dozen  miniature  spools  of  colored 
embroidery  silks;  in  the  second,  a  little  olive- 
wood  box  with  a  painting  in  sepia  of  Nice  in 
1770  on  the  lid;  in  the  third,  some  wheel- 
shaped,  ivory  winders  with  the  silk  still  bright 
upon  them;  and  in  the  fourth,  an  agate- 


AN  OLD  WORK-BOX  231 

handled  seal  bearing  the  Ashton  coat-of-arms 
and  several  delicately  drawn  patterns  for  em- 
broidery work.  In  the  large  central  compart- 
ment lay  a  silver-topped  glass  vinaigrette, 
exquisitely  cut  with  rows  of  deep  set  stars, 
which  flashed  in  the  sunlight  as  Mildred  held 
it  up  to  examine  its  beauty.  Here  was  some- 
thing else.  A  silver  thimble  with  a  lace-like 
rim  of  filagree.  It  bore  the  initials  of  the 
owner,  D.  A.,  and  the  date  1774.  Mildred 
tried  it  on.  It  fitted  perfectly. 

"It  must  have  been  hard  to  sew  with  this," 
thought  Mildred,  as  she  critically  observed 
her  newly  adorned  finger.  "I  should  think 
the  filagree  would  catch  the  thread;  but  per- 
haps our  ancestors  sewed  more  slowly  than  we 
do  to-day." 

Placing  it  back  carefully  in  the  little  silk- 
lined  hole  opposite  a  plump  scarlet  velvet 
strawberry  emery  cushion  with  green  leaves, 
the  new  owner  of  the  box  let  down  the  crape 
lining  of  the  top,  puckered  into  a  curious 
formal  rosette  pattern  of  a  by-gone  age  and 
held  in  place  by  a  small,  movable  silver  pin. 
Here  she  discovered  a  number  of  invitations 
to  distinguished  houses  in  Paris  and  London 
dated  1770,  an  illustrated  programme  of  an 


232     A  DAUGHTER  OF  THE  REVOLUTION 

evening's  entertainment  at  Ranelagh;  a  card 
to  a  fashionable  rout  in  London;  a  few  clip- 
pings from  the  New  York  Gazette  relating  to 
entertainments  at  the  Governor's  House  and 
Hull's  Assembly  Rooms  in  Broadway;  and  a 
crisp  and  faded  ivy-leaf,  evidently  very  pre- 
cious as  it  was  folded  in  a  sheet  of  pink 
watered  letter  paper  with  gilt  edges. 

This  box  had  not  been  opened  for  over  a 
hundred  years:  the  pretty  blue  crape  was  not 
faded  in  the  least ;  the  silver  was  not  tarnished ; 
and  everything  was  in  beautiful  order,  just  as 
Dolly  Ashton  had  left  it. 

As  Mildred  was  wondering  by  what  process 
Time  gives  so  strange  and  subtle  a  perfume— 
"a  sense-beguiling  odor,"  she  called  it — to  all 
delicate  objects,  there  seemed  to  be  added  to 
this  indescribable  essence  that  excites  some  as 
yet  imperfectly  understood  connections  with 
the  brain  that  seem  to  start  currents  of  thought 
and  vague  imaginings — an  imperceptible  sense 
of  the  scent,  rather  than  the  scent  itself,  of 
attar  of  rose ;  and  Mildred  almost  felt  the  pres- 
ence of  the  Eighteenth  Century  lady  who  had 
so  long  been  a  Dweller  among  Shadows. 

"Enough!"  said  Mildred  to  herself,  as  she 


AN  OLD  WORK-BOX  233 

fancied  that  a  cool  wave  of  air  touched  her 
forehead  and  then  the  hand  that  was  placing 
these  treasures  back  and  fastening  the  pin  at 
the  top.  "Let  us  lift  the  tray,"  for  she  had  dis- 
covered the  little  silken  loops  at  each  side. 
Yes ;  the  tray  lifted,  and  below  it — what? 

A  ray  of  sunlight  that  had  been  playing 
with  Mildred's  hair  now  leaped  into  the  box 
far  more  rapidly  than  Mildred's  gaze  to  dance 
and  revel  there  with  the  semi-precious  stones 
of  a  necklace  that  had  so  long  been  hidden  in 
darkness.  How  it  welcomed  the  long  ban- 
ished light!  The  stones  palpitated  and 
flashed  in  bewildering  harmonies  of  purple, 
yellow,  red,  green  and  blue,  as  if  with  joy  in 
response  to  the  warm  kiss  of  the  golden  sun- 
beam that  woke  them  into  life  again. 

Recovering  from  the  first  blinding  flash, 
Mildred  lifted  the  necklace  to  examine  it 
more  carefully.  It  was  hard  to  decide  which 
was  the  lovelier, — the  harmoniously  gradu- 
ated stones,  or  their  quaint  setting  in  inter- 
woven threads  of  silver. 

"A  jardiniere — a  flower  garden  of  jewels, 
set  in  the  lovely  Italian  manner,"  exclaimed 
Mildred,  as  she  clasped  it  on  her  neck.  "I 


234     A  DAUGHTER  OF  THE  REVOLUTION 

have  seen  just  such  necklaces  on  the  long  necks 
of  Luini's  and  Botticelli's  women!  Oh,  how 
beautiful!" 

But  this  was  not  all.  The  necklace  had  lain 
beside  two  packages  of  yellowed  letters,  each 
tied  with  a  faded  blue  ribbon,  and  a  Diary, 
bound  in  green  leather  and  fastened  with  a 
silver  clasp. 

Mildred  paused. 

Should  she  read  these,  or  burn  them?  Al- 
though greatly  tempted,  not  only  by  a  natural 
curiosity  but  by  her  love  of  romance,  she  hesi- 
tated ;  for  it  seemed  to  her  that  to  open  them 
would  be  to  intrude  upon  the  privacy  of  one 
powerless  to  defend  herself  from  the  profane 
eye  of  an  intruder.  Long  she  sat  there 
immovable,  wondering,  pondering,  thinking 
what  she  should  do.  Finally,  believing  that 
perhaps  these  records  of  a  past  life,  connected 
to  hers  by  ties  of  blood,  might  have  some  mes- 
sage for  her,  as  they  had  come  to  her  so 
strangely  and  after  so  many  years,  she  decided 
to  untie  the  packages  and  unclasp  the  little 
book. 

Again  the  faint  odor  of  roses  made  her  half 
close  her  eyes  for  a  moment  and  the  same  cool 
breeze  came  again,  first  gently  shaking  the 


AN  OLD  WORK-BOX  235 

sprays  of  honeysuckle  above  her  head  and 
then  ruffling  her  hair  and  fanning  her  cheek. 

"I  wonder,"  exclaimed  Mildred  with  a 
slight  shiver,  "if  she  could  be  here  beside  mel 
If  such  a  thing  is  possible!  Spiritualists 
would  say  'Of  course,  she  is  here  I'  /  do  not 
know:  it  is  very  strange.  One  spray  of  that 
honeysuckle  is  waving  and  every  other  cluster 
is  still!  Life  is  so  strange!  Perhaps  the 
dead  are  more  alive  than  we,  who  think  we 
live!  Who  can  say,  or  not,  if  some  emanation 
has  not  been  mysteriously  evoked?  Perhaps 
it  is  imagination;  but  I  feel  her  here  beside 
me;  and  with  all  reverence  and  sympathy  I  am 
going  to  open  her  Diary." 

Mildred  paused  again,  thinking  how 
strangely  she  had  been  invited  to  open  a  chap- 
ter into  the  Past.  Then,  for  a  few  moments 
the  Present  claimed  her:  the  morning  was  so 
perfect.  As  she  looked  beyond  the  verandah 
through  the  frame  of  roses  and  honeysuckle, 
both  in  luxuriant  bloom,  she  was  again  im- 
pressed with  the  loveliness  of  her  ancestral 
home.  The  sun  threaded  its  bewildered  way 
through  the  thick  grove  of  maples  to  lay 
patches — large  and  small — of  luminous  yel- 
low upon  the  green  lawn;  beneath  the 


236     A  DAUGHTER  OF  THE  REVOLUTION 

branches  of  the  frees  the  Sound,  lying  deep 
below  the  bluff  and  gay  with  pleasure-boats 
of  many  kinds,  gleamed  with  waves  of  silver 
and  blue;  at  intervals  a  light  wind — forerun- 
ner of  a  storm — caught  and  gently  swayed  the 
sleepy  boughs  of  the  maples,  beeches  and  ce- 
dars and  turned  the  excited  leaves  of  the  tall 
poplars  backward  into  a  quivering  mass  of 
delicate,  silvery  gray;  many  birds  were  flying 
hither  and  thither  busy  making,  or  returning 
to,  their  nests;  and  fat,  yellow-banded  bees 
often  visited  the  clusters  of  honeysuckle  above 
her  head  from  which,  at  their  clumsy  depar- 
ture, these  guests  shook  down  showers  of  dew- 
drops  hidden  too  deep  in  the  white  and  buff 
horns  of  honey  for  the  sun  to  find. 

The  voices  of  June  were  all  around  her. 
She  heard  the  drowsy  hum  of  these  soft- 
footed  honey-gatherers;  the  frequent  and  so 
sweet  call  of  the  loving  robins  to  "Hurry  up, 
hurry  up,  hurry  up,  dearie!"  the  peevish 
"mee-u"  of  the  cat  birds  from  the  neatly 
trimmed  bushes;  the  occasional  raucous  "caw- 
caw"  of  a  far-away  crow;  the  shrill  "Bob,  Bob 
White"  of  the  quails  from  various  quarters; 
the  puff ,  puff ,  puff  of  a  distant  motor  boat, 
dancing  up  and  down  upon  the  shining 


AN  OLD  WORK-BOX  237 

Sound ;  and  the  hoot  of  an  automobile  quickly 
passing  beyond  the  hedges  and  the  entrance 
gate  to  Wild  Acres. 

Unclasping  the  Diary,  Mildred  sat  for 
many  hours  on  the  verandah  reading  from  the 
faded  pages  and  was  startled  to  discover  in- 
cidents in  her  great-great-grandmother's  ro- 
mance that  strangely  resembled  her  own. 

Are  our  lives  but  reproductions  of  those 
that  have  gone  before  us?  Do  we,  who  have 
inherited  certain  qualities  from  our  ancestors, 
attract  to  ourselves  circumstances  that  will 
bring  into  action  these  inherited  qualities  dor- 
mant in  us? 

How  strange  is  heredity!  How  strange  are 
the  workings  of  Life! 


CHAPTER  XX 


OPENING  the  Diary  at  random,  the  first 
entry  Mildred's  eyes  fell  upon  was: 

March  4,  1777.  Everybody's  gone  out,  even 
Prissy!  I  feel  so  lonely  and  depressed. 
Heigh-ho!  I  wish  somebody  would  come 
and  run  away  with  me;  and  I  wouldn't  care 
if  that  somebody's  name  began  with  the 
initials  J.  A. 

Is  this  love?  Yes;  I  think  it  is!  And 
who  wouldn't  love  such  a  handsome,  gallant 
fellow?  Certainly  not  Dolly! 

"Life,  what  art  thou  without  love?" 

Then  Mildred  turned  to  the  first  page. 

April  23,  1775.  Sunday.  I  am  beginning  a 
Diary  to-day  because  of  the  great  excite- 
ment in  town.  News  has  just  come  from 
Boston  that  hostilities  have  begun  between 
the  King's  troops  and  the  Provincials. 
238 


A  REVOLUTIONARY  DIARY  239 

Uncle  John  considers  it  very  serious.  I 
have  therefore  resolved  to  chronicle  the 
happenings.  Went  to  Trinity,  as  usual, 
and  walked  in  the  Mall  after  church. 
Everybody  stopped  to  discuss  the  alarming 
news  from  Boston. 

April  29.  Saturday.  What  an  awful  week! 
Nothing  but  confusion  and  commotion  all 
over  the  town.  All  business  stopped. 
Nothing  but  the  sound  of  fifes  and  drums 
and  clattering  of  horsemen.  Soldiers  en- 
listing on  all  sides.  All  the  mothers,  wives 
and  sweethearts  of  the  town  in  tears.  Many 
people  so  panic-stricken  that  they  are  get- 
ting ready  to  flee  into  the  country.  Many 
families  at  odds,  some  members  siding  with 
the  King  and  some  for  Independence.  We 
are  having  great  excitement  in  our  house; 
for  we,  too,  are  divided.  Uncle  John  is 
for  the  King,  as  is  natural,  I  suppose,  for 
one  of  His  Majesty's  Council  for  the  Prov- 
ince; but  Aunt  Betty  and  I  are  for  Inde- 
pendence of  the  Colonies.  This  is  natural, 
too,  I  dare  say,  for  all  the  Ashtons  are  in 
the  Continental  Army.  We  grow  very  hot 
sometimes,  especially  when  my  cousin,  John 
Ashton,  calls. 


240     A  DAUGHTER  OF  THE  REVOLUTION 

May  26.  The  'Asia,  a  man-of-war,  Captain 
Van  Deput,  arrived  from  Boston. 

June  25.  General  William  Tryon  arrived 
from  England.  He  landed  late  in  the  even- 
ing. There  was  a  great  commotion,  but 
not  so  much  as  for  the  welcome  to  General 
George  Washington,  who  came  from 
Philadelphia  early  in  the  afternoon.  He 
has  just  been  made  commander-in-chief  of 
all  the  troops.  General  Washington  was 
attended  by  General  Schuyler  and  General 
Lee  and  escorted  by  the  Philadelphia  Light 
Horse,  Captain  Markoe.  He  was  received 
by  the  military  and  citizens.  General  W. 
is  very  distinguished  of  bearing  and  man- 
ner. Admired  him  very  much. 

June  26.  Gen.  W.  left  for  N.  England  to- 
day. 

July  3.  Read  General  Washington's  reply  to 
the  address  of  the  Provincial  Congress  of 
the  Colony  of  New  York  in  this  morning's 
Gazette.  Indeed  but  it  is  fine!  I  must 
copy  it: 

"As  to  the  fatal  but  necessary  operations 
of  war  when  we  assumed  the  soldier  we  did 
not  lay  aside  the  citizen;  and  we  shall  most 
sincerely  rejoice  with  you  in  that  happy 


A  REVOLUTIONARY  DIARY,  241 

hour  when  the  establishment  of  American 
Liberty  on  the  most  firm  and  solid  founda- 
tions shall  enable  us  to  return  to  our  private 
stations  in  the  Bosom  of  a  free,  peaceful  and 
happy  Country." 

July  17.  Read  the  declaration  in  the  Ga- 
zette this  morning  by  the  representatives  of 
the  United  Colonies  of  North  America  now 
in  Congress  in  Philadelphia,  setting  forth 
the  causes  and  necessity  of  their  taking 
arms. 

Much  impressed  with  the  righteousness 
of  our  cause. 

July  20.  On  Monday  last  saw  Col.  Lasher's 
Battalion  of  City  Militia  reviewed  by  Brig- 
adier-Generals Montgomery  and  Wooster. 
Many  ladies  and  gentlemen  were  present. 
They  went  through  the  exercises  with  the 
greatest  order,  alertness  and  decorum.  The 
country  can  never  be  enslaved  while  we 
have  such  men  to  defend  us.  John  Ashton 
is  in  this  Battalion.  He  did  well.  Aunt 
Betty  was  very  proud  of  him.  So  was  I. 
John  came  to  supper  afterwards.  He  told 
us  some  new  toasts  that  he  heard  at  Fraun- 
ces  Tavern  in  the  afternoon.  Here  they 
are: 


242     A  DAUGHTER  OF  THE  REVOLUTION 

"May  the  enemies  of  Heaven  be  turned 
into  salt  petre  and  go  off  in  hot  blasts. 

"May  America  ever  be  the  dread  and 
scourge  of  tyrants. 

"The  Daughters  of  America  in  the  arms 
of  their  defenders  only. 

"Duel  and  jack-boots  before  dishonor 
and  wooden  shoes." 

Uncle  John  laughed  heartily  and  then 
said: 

'Damme,  Jack,  but  you  forget  this  is  a 
Tory  house!  Let's  drink  to  the  King  and 
his  worst  enemies — your  Aunt  Betty,  Dolly 
and  Jacky  Ashtonl' 

Uncle  John  is  very  good,  I  think,  to  let 
us  talk  so  freely  as  he  does,  he  being  so  ar- 
dent a  Tory;  but  Uncle  John  is  Uncle  John 
with  the  best  of  good  tempers,  and  besides 
he  loves  Aunt  Betty  (dear  thing!)  so  dearly 
(who  doesn't,  I'd  like  to  know?)  that  he 
would  submit  to  anything  and  everything 
for  her  sake.  All  Aunt  Betty's  family — in- 
cluding me — Dolly — are  strong  for  Inde- 
pendence. Indeed,  we  become  more  ar- 
dent and  eager  for  it  each  day,  each  hour. 

"The  daughters  of  America  in  the  arms 
of  their  defenders  only,"  say  I. 


A  REVOLUTIONARY  DIARY  243 

Sept.  1 8.  The  Minute  Men  paraded  to-day. 
Saw  the  parade  from  our  house.  Drank  a 
dish  of  tea  afterwards  at  Cousin  Hannah's. 
Nothing  talked  of  but  the  war.  Cousin 
Hannah  is  going  to  Philadelphia  to-mor- 
row to  visit  the  Shippens. 

Nov.  26.  Sunday  morning  went  to  the  New 
Dutch  Church  with  John  Ashton  to  hear 
Dr.  Archibald  Ladlie.  He  has  just  been 
made  chaplain  to  the  First  Battalion  of  In- 
dependent Minute  Men.  His  text  was 
"Stand  fast  in  the  Liberty  with  which 
Christ  hath  made  us  free  and  be  not  en- 
tangled again  with  the  yoke  of  bondage." 
Gal.  v.  i.  A  splendid  sermon.  Walked 
with  John  in  the  Mall  after  church. 
Everybody  we  met  very  solemn.  Long 
faces  everywhere. 

Dec.  2.  Bought  some  books  at  Valentine 
Nutter's.  Also  The  Mourning  Bride, 
Beaux  Stratagem  and  Recruiting  Officer. 
I  love  to  read  plays. 

Mildred  now  skimmed  through  a  number 
of  pages  chiefly  devoted  to  historical  events. 
She  began  to  read  attentively  again  in  the 
summer  of  1776. 


244     A  DAUGHTER  OF  THE  REVOLUTION 

July  8.  Fleet  from  Halifax  arrived.  It  is 
off  Staten  Island. 

July  10.  The  Congress  Declaration  of  Inde- 
pendence of  the  United  States  of  America 
was  read  at  the  head  of  each  brigade  of  the 
Continental  Army  posted  near  and  in  the 
City.  The  statue  of  King  George  in  Bowl- 
ing Green  was  thrown  down  and  broken  in 
pieces.  They  say  the  lead  is  to  be  used 
for  bullets.  As  the  statue  is  almost  oppo- 
site our  house,  we  had  full  benefit  of  the 
performance.  I  am  sure  I  am  glad  enough 
that  it  has  gone.  It  always  looked  so 
ghostly  on  moonlight  nights  and  still  worse 
in  the  dark.  When  I  was  a  little  girl  I  was 
afraid  at  night  it  might  come  in  my  win- 
dow; and  I  have  never  quite  got  over  my 
feeling  about  that  man  on  the  horse. 

July  12.  Lord  Howe  has  arrived  in  the 
Eagle  from  England  with  a  large  fleet. 
Uncle  John,  Aunt  Betty  and  I  watched  the 
ships  from  the  gallery  on  top  of  our  house. 
It  was  a  wonderful  sight.  They  turned 
towards  the  Jersey  shore  when  they  reached 
Bedlow's  Island  and  went  up  the  river. 
The  British  lion  is  roused! 

Sept.  21.    Oh  what  a  dreadful  thing  I  have 


A  REVOLUTIONARY  DIARY  245 

to  record  now!  How  can  I  write  it  down? 
It  was  so  awful,  that  terrible,  terrible  fire 
of  last  night!  It  broke  out  near  Whitehall 
between  twelve  and  one  o'clock  in  the  morn- 
ing. We  were  all  in  bed.  Aunt  Betty 
called  me.  I  dressed  and  went  up  to  the 
gallery,  where  Aunt  Betty  and  Uncle  John 
were  already  watching  the  fire.  It  was  an 
awful,  awful  sight.  There  was  a  high 
wind  blowing,  which  made  everything 
worse.  Soon  flames  began  to  burst  out  in 
other  places  until  the  whole  city  seemed  to 
be  burning  up.  It  grew  worse  and  worse. 
I  shall  never  forget  the  strange  light,  the 
roaring  of  the  flames,  the  unnatural,  hot  air, 
the  crashing  of  the  houses  as  their  walls 
fell  in,  the  clouds  of  smoke  and  all  the  ex- 
citement of  the  people  running  about  the 
streets  fighting  the  flames  and  trying  to  save 
the  poor  people.  Major-General  Pattison 
sent  for  two  regiments  and  placed  guards 
in  the  streets.  Lord  Howe  ordered  the 
boats  of  the  fleet  manned.  All  the  build- 
ings between  Broad  Street  and  the  North 
River  were  burned  and  many  near  King's 
College.  Oh,  how  we  grieved  to  see  dear 
old  Trinity  burn  to  the  ground!  How 


246     A  DAUGHTER  OF  THE  REVOLUTION 

awful  it  was  to  watch  it!  It  was  a  pyramid 
of  fire!  Several  women  and  children  per- 
ished in  the  fire.  We  heard  their  shrieks 
in  the  midst  of  the  flames.  I  can  never  for- 
get the  horror  of  it  all!  Those  bright 
flames  in  the  darkness  of  night!  The  fire 
raged  ten  hours!  It  is  just  out;  but  even 
now  it  is  smouldering  in  places,  which  are 
being  watched.  Many  hundreds  of  fam- 
ilies are  destitute.  Uncle  John,  Aunt 
Betty,  Prissy  and  I  have  worked  hard  all 
day  to  relieve  sufferers.  We  have  one  poor 
family  that  we  are  taking  care  of  in  our 
house.  How  sad  to  look  around  and  see 
the  blackened  ruins!  And  oh,  the  smell  of 
it  all!  The  horrid,  horrid,  charred  smell! 
Truly  we  are  living  in  terrible  times! 
Oct.  7.  Uncle  John  has  everything  to  please 
him  now!  Our  town  is  entirely  British! 
His  Majesty's  Forces  are  in  possession  of 
New  York,  with  all  the  harbor  and  Sound, 
of  Long  and  Staten  Islands  and  nearly  all 
of  New  York  Island.  They  are  also  in  pos- 
session of  Powles  Hook  and  command  the 
East  River  and  Connecticut  Sound.  So 
vast  a  Fleet  has  never  been  seen  together  in 
this  part,  or,  perhaps,  in  all  America  be- 


A  REVOLUTIONARY  DIARY  247 

fore.  The  Ships  are  stationed  up  the  East 
River,  or  Sound,  as  far  as  Turtle  Bay. 
Near  the  Town  the  multitude  of  masts  car- 
ries the  appearance  of  a  wood.  Some  are 
moored  in  the  North  River;  others  in  the 
Bay  between  Red  and  Yellow  Hook;  some 
off  Staten  Island;  and  several  off  Powles 
Hook  and  towards  the  Kills.  The  Men-of- 
War  are  moored  chiefly  up  New  York 
Sound  and  make,  with  the  other  ships,  a 
very  magnificent  and  formidable  appear- 
ance. 

Jan.  3,  1777.  Bought  a  new  squirrel  muff 
and  tippet  at  Lyon  Jonas's  in  Broad  Street. 
Muffs  are  large  this  year.  Mine  seems  im- 
mense. The  tippet  is  small,  but  very  mod- 
ish. 

Jan.  4.  Everybody  is  studying  French  with 
M.  Teniere,  lately  arrived  from  Paris.  I 
am  going  to  begin  next  week.  Read  the 
Earl  of  Chesterfield's  Letters  to  His  Son, 
just  imported. 

Jan.  25.  Uncle  John,  Aunt  Betty,  Cousin 
Hannah,  Cousin  Tom,  Mr.  Ludlow  and  I 
went  to  the  opening  of  the  little  theatre  in 
John  Street,  now  the  Royal  Theatre.  The 
play  was  Tom  Thumb,  the  celebrated  bur- 


248     A  DAUGHTER  OF  THE  REVOLUTION 

lesque  written  by  the  late  Mr.  Fielding  to 
ridicule  the  bathos  of  several  dramatic 
pieces  that  at  his  time  had  engrossed  the 
London  theatres. 

We  sent  Prissy  and  Cousin  Hannah's 
Judy  early,  to  keep  our  seats  for  us.  The 
house  was  crowded.  The  characters  were 
performed  by  the  Gentlemen  of  the  Army 
and  Navy.  The  performers  showed  much 
spirit  and  taste. 

The  prologue  was  written  and  spoken  by 
Captain  Stanley.  Dr.  Beaumont,  the  sur- 
geon-general, was  monstrous  amusing.  So 
was  Lieut.  Pennefeather.  He  took  the 
part  of  Huncamunca.  Lieut.  P.  always 
plays  a  woman's  part.  They  say  he  is  fine 
in  the  Beaux  Stratagem,  which  the  officers 
are  soon  going  to  give.  How  I  should  like 
to  see  him  play  Lady  Teazle,  or  Mrs. 
Malaprop!  He  is  too  funny  for  anything. 
Aunt  Betty  and  I  nearly  split  our  sides 
laughing,  for  we  know  him  so  well ;  but  we 
had  never  seen  him  act  before. 

Major  Williams  of  the  Artillery;  Cap- 
tain Oliver  De  Lancey  of  the  lyth  Dra- 
goons; Captain  Michael  Seix  of  the  22nd 
Foot;  Captain  William  Loftus  of  the 


A  REVOLUTIONARY  DIARY  249 

Guards;  Captain  Edward  Bradden  of  the 
1 5th  Foot;  Captain  Phipps,  William  Hew- 
let  and  Major  John  Andre  were  the  others 
who  took  part.  Captain  De  Lancey 
painted  the  scenes,  except  the  drop  curtain. 
This  was  done  by  Major  Andre'.  It  repre- 
sented a  beautiful  prospect — a  meadow 
with  a  winding  stream  extending  a  long 
way  into  the  distance.  In  the  centre  is  a 
cascade,  the  water  falling  most  natural.  It 
is  overshadowed  by  majestic  trees.  The 
whole  is  wonderfully  toned  and  glazed. 
Everybody  was  in  raptures  over  it. 
Jan.  26.  Met  Lieut.  Pennefeather  walking 
in  Hanover  Square  this  morning  as  I  was 
going  to  Henry  Wilmot's  to  get  some 
double-edged  blonde  lace  for  Aunt  Betty. 
I  held  out  my  hand  and  greeted  him  with 

*O  Huncamunca!  Huncamunca  O!' 
quoting  this  line  with  an  expression  of  great 
admiration. 

Lieut.  P.  shook  my  hand  warmly  and  said 
it  was  the  nicest  congratulation  he  had  had. 
I  told  him  how  much  we  had  enjoyed  his 
acting.  He  smiled  gratefully,  but  insisted 
that  the  honors  should  go  to  Dr.  Beaumont 
and  Major  Andre. 


250     A  DAUGHTER  OF  THE  REVOLUTION 

Lieut.  P.  then  asked  if  he  might  bring 
Captain  Stanley  and  Major  Andre  to  call 
that  evening.  I  said  yes ;  but  come  to  sup- 
per. Knew  it  would  please  Uncle  John. 
It  did.  A  most  delectable  evening!  We 
played  Quadrille  until  long  after  midnight. 
Aunt  Betty  and  Major  Andre  were  part- 
ners and  Lieut.  Pennefeather  and  I.  Lieut. 
P.  and  I  won.  We  consulted  together  in 
a  corner  away  from  the  others  later  and  de- 
cided to  buy  a  new  snuff-box  for  Uncle 
John  with  our  winnings,  as  a  surprise.  I 
saw  some  yesterday  at  Rivington's,  just  im- 
ported, of  paper,  beautifully  painted  and 
gilt. 

Feb.  20.  I  think  I  am  getting  to  be  quite 
"the  taste."  I  had  more  attention  last  night 
at  the  Assembly  than  Patty  Deane,  who  has 
been  the  toast  of  the  town  for  two  years. 
Patty  was  monstrously  vexed.  I  danced 
three  minuets  with  J.  A.  and  several  coun- 
try dances.  He  dances  to  perfection.  The 
officers  were  fluttering  around  me  like  but- 
terflies. "Splitt  me!"  if  they  weren't!  I 
got  that  fine  expression  from  Lieut.  Penne- 
feather. He  is  always  saying  it,  and  in 
such  a  monstrous  funny  way. 


A  REVOLUTIONARY  DIARY  251 

I  felt  all  the  evening  quite  as  a  flower 
must  feel  when  it  holds  out  every  petal  and 
all  its  leaves  to  the  butterflies.  My  butter- 
flies were  red-coated  and  gold-laced,  very 
gallant  and  smart.  There  were  others  be- 
sides officers  at  my  feet.  Ahem!  There 
were  two  Maccaronis  just  from  London, 
who  were  my  devoted  slaves.  There  were 
two  gentlemen  from  Philadelphia  and 
three  from  Boston  who  basked  in  the  sun- 
light, the  moonlight,  or  the  candle  light  of 
my  charms.  I  flirted  terribly  with  all  of 
them,  Uncle  John  encouraging  me.  But 
there  was  one  devoted  admirer  that  I  liked 
best  of  all.  He  shall  be  nameless.  O 
Diary,  even  you  shall  be  kept  in  the  dark  I 

Yes;  I  was  the  ton  last  night.  "Strike 
me  dumb"  but  I  was!  Another  of  Lieut. 
Pennefeather's  favorite  exclamations.  Aunt 
Betty  was  proud  of  me.  So  was  Uncle 
John.  I  think  Uncle  John  wants  a  wed- 
ding in  his  house.  Who  the  bride,  I  won- 
der? 

Guion,  the  new  coiffeur,  just  arrived 
from  London,  dressed  my  hair  in  the  very 
latest  mode.  It  was  the  first  time  I  ever 
wore  a  tete.  It  took  Guion  two  hours  to 


A  DAUGHTER  OF  THE  REVOLUTION 

build  it.  I  can  describe  it  because  I  am 
looking  at  it  now  in  the  glass. 

To  begin  with,  it  is  at  least  three  feet 
above  my  forehead,  the  hair  brushed  up 
perfectly  straight.  Then  come  some  soft 
and  rounded  puffs  and  a  profusion  of  little 
curls,  some  tightly  pinned  to  the  head,  and 
some  loosely  dangling;  and  when  I  give 
my  head  a  shake — a  playfully,  petulant 
shake — they  move  in  the  most  bewitching 
manner.  At  least,  that  is  what  Captain 
Stanley  told  me  last  night. 

This  style  of  head  is  new  to  me,  so  I  was 
glad  to  know  that  I  carried  it  with  ease. 
But,  to  go  on.  My  head  is  built  up  into  a 
kind  of  architectural  mass.  It  is  a  veritable 
construction  worthy  of  Inigo  Jones,  Batty 
Langley,  or  Sir  Christopher  Wren.  Well, 
any  number  of  wrens  could  build  among 
my  curls  and  puffs  and  I'd  be  none  the 
wiser.  And  if  we  have  bees  in  our  bon- 
nets, why  not  wrens  in  our  curls?  Answer 
me,  O  Diary! 

I  think  Guion  must  have  used  several 
bushels  of  horsehair  and  wool,  eight  or  ten 
pots  of  pomade  and  several  bags  of  scented 
powder.  While  he  was  composing  this 


A  REVOLUTIONARY  DIARY  253 

monument,  every  now  and  again  he  would 
walk  away  to  a  distance  and  survey  me; 
first  on  one  side,  then  directly  in  front,  then 
from  the  back  and  then  on  the  other  side, 
squinting  his  eyes  and  looking  at  me 
through  his  lorgnette.  When  it  was  all 
built  up  and  perfectly  satisfactory,  he  pow- 
dered it  with  a  sweet-scented  powder  of  a 
pale  pinkish  hue.  He  tried  the  effect  of 
several  powders  against  my  skin,  and  said 
this  was  the  most  becoming  to  my  complex- 
ion. Then,  when  the  powdering  was  fin- 
ished, he  wound  in  and  out  among  my 
curls  yards  and  yards  and  yards  of  the  love- 
liest pale  blue  gauze  ribbon  with  a  silver 
thread  running  through  it!  I  think  he 
used  fifteen  yards.  (I  mean  to  measure  it 
when  my  head  is  taken  to  pieces  next  week) 
and  he  made  the  most  modish  loops  and 
knots  and  bows  that  I  ever  saw.  Guion  has 
the  most  skilful  fingers! 

But  this  is  not  all,  O  Diary!  I  have 
every  kind  of  fruit  on  my  tete,  I  think,  that 
ever  grew  in  the  Garden  of  Eden,  or  in  Mr. 
William  Prince's  nurseries  at  Flushing. 
For  example,  I  have  a  big  bunch  of  red 
morello  cherries  on  the  right,  by  the  side 


254     A  DAUGHTER  OF  THE  REVOLUTION 

of  three  large  curls ;  I  have  peaches,  plums, 
apricots,  pears  and  crab-apples  (beauties) 
at  the  puffs  on  top  where  there  is  the  great- 
est height;  and  I  have  strawberries,  cur- 
rants, gooseberries  and  grapes  at  the  back. 
On  the  left  side  a  cascade  of  ribbon  falls 
nearly  to  my  shoulders. 

My  dress — but  why  speak  of  my  dress 
after  my  head?  My  dress  was  blue  and  sil- 
ver brocade  trimmed  with  a  profusion  of 
blonde  lace.  My  slippers  were  blue  satin 
with  very  high  heels  and  glittering  paste 
buckles. 

"I  have  just  had  these  in  my  hand,"  Mil- 
dred exclaimed;  and  then  read  on: 

Captain  De  Lancey  said  I  was  the  most 
perfect  female  Maccaroni  he  had  seen  in 
New  York  as  yet. 

Guion  also  dressed  Aunt  Betty's  head. 
She  wore  fourteen  tall  puce-colored  ostrich 
feathers  arranged  "a  la  Reine"  or  the  style 
that  Marie  Antoinette  most  approves,  some 
turned  down  towards  the  face  and  some 
turned  up;  and  below  them  a  band  of  puce- 
colored  ribbon  tied  in  a  bow.  Aunt  Betty 


A  REVOLUTIONARY  DIARY  255 

carried  her  headdress  like  a  queen  herself. 
Guion  darkened  her  eyebrows  very  much, 
which  made  her  very  handsome.  She  wore 
a  great  number  of  mouches,  which  Guion 
cut  in  the  latest  style — chiefly  little  stars  and 
crescents.  They  were  most  becoming. 
Aunt  Betty  carried  the  new  patch-box  I 
gave  her  at  Christmas.  I  got  it  at  Oliver 
Bruff's  in  Maiden  Lane.  I  didn't  tell 
Aunt  Betty  what  I  paid  for  it.  I  did 
Uncle  John  though;  and  he  said  it  was  all 
right.  Aunt  Betty  would  not  approve  of 
my  spending  two  guineas  for  her  when 
there  is  so  much  suffering  among  our  Amer- 
ican people  and  food  is  so  dear  and  getting 
dearer  every  day. 

Uncle  John  thinks  differently.  He  paid 
Guion  two  hundred  pounds  for  dressing 
Aunt  Betty's  and  my  heads!  We  keep  the 
fruits  and  feathers  and  ribbons,  so  we  shall 
have  something  to  show  for  it  when  our 
heads  are  taken  apart. 

Oh,  I  haven't  finished  with  the  Assem- 
bly! Oh,  Diary,  Diary!  where  am  I  run- 
ning to?  Why  didn't  you  refuse  to  let  my 
quill  fly  along  like  the  goose  on  which  it 
grew?  Je  reviens  a  mes  moutons.  Ah!  I 


256     A  DAUGHTER  OF  THE  REVOLUTION 

am  coming  to  the  most  important  thing  of 
all, — my  fan! 

I  carried  a  Watteau  fan.  J.  A.  wrote  a 
verse  on  it  when  I  wasn't  looking.  It  was 
wrote  on  the  plain  side  behind  the  picture 
of  Venus  in  her  chariot  drawn  by  doves 
with  Cupid  by  her  side.  He  took  the  fan 
away  and  did  not  return  it  till  after  sup- 
per; and  then  he  handed  it  to  me  folded. 
I  did  not  discover  the  poem  until  this  morn- 
ing when  Prissy  called  my  attention  to  it. 
She  found  it  when  she  was  putting  away 
my  things.  This  is  the  verse : 

"The  Paphian  goddess,  in  her  chase, 
Found  naught  so  fair  as  Dolly's  face; 
In  all  her  journeys  through  the  skies 
Found  naught  so  fair  as  Dolly's  eyes; 
Venus  her  torch  doth  yield,  and  doves, 
To  Dolly,  now  the  Queen  of  Loves!" 

What  do  you  think  of  that,  little  Diary, 
for  gallantry? 

Mildred  read  on  and  on.  She  soon  no- 
ticed that  the  Diary,  which  had  begun  to 
chronicle  the  thrilling  history  of  Revolution- 
ary days,  became  by  degrees  a  personal  rec- 
ord of  the  young  girl,  who  was  both  a  belle 


A  REVOLUTIONARY  DIARY  257 

and  a  patriot,  now  mingling  in  the  gaieties 
of  New  York  and  now  busy  making  clothes 
for  the  American  soldiers  and  helping  her 
charitable  Aunt  Betty  alleviate  the  miseries 
of  the  afflicted,  impoverished  and  distressed. 
Soon  through  the  records  of  her  daily  life  of 
pleasures  and  duties  the  golden  thread  of  love 
began  to  intertwine.  ^References  to  J.  A.  be- 
came increasingly  frequent.  He  took  walks 
with  her;  he  danced  with  her;  he  played  cards 
with  her;  he  rode  with  her;  he  wrote  verses 
to  her;  he  made  little  pen-and-ink  sketches 
for  her;  and,  above  all,  he  frequently  sang 
to  her  accompaniments  on  the  harpsichord. 
What  particularly  struck  Mildred  was  the 
fact  that  J.  A.  and  Dolly  found  so  much  de- 
light in  the  enjoyment  of  music  together. 
When  he  was  absent  from  town,  Dolly  was  in- 
consolable and  poured  out  the  longings  for  the 
beloved  one  that  absence  creates  upon  the 
pages  of  the  little  book  that  evidently  became 
to  Dolly  a  sympathetic  friend  who  received 
confidences  that  she  could  not  voice  even 
to  her  dearly-loved  Aunt  Betty.  When- 
ever J.  A.  returned  to  New  York,  the  Diary 
bubbled  over  with  Dolly's  outbursts  of 
joy. 


258     A  DAUGHTER  OF  THE  REVOLUTION 

The  romance  culminated  in  the  winter  of 
1780.  There  was  reference  to  a  letter  in 
which  J.  A.  offered  Dolly  his  hand  and  heart. 
On  the  same  page  was  a  record  of  Dolly's  an- 
swer, which  cost  her  so  much  to  give.  The 
Diary  bore  witness  to  Dolly's  struggle,  dis- 
tress of  mind  and  sacrifice. 

The  last  entry  was : 

Jan.  19,  1780.  Yesterday  was  the  Queen's 
Birthday.  The  Royal  salute  began  at 
noon,  fired  from  Fort  George  and  repeated 
by  the  ships-of-war  at  two  o'clock.  Uncle 
John  went  to  the  grand  dinner  given  by 
General  Tryon  to  General  Knyphausen, 
General  Philips,  General  Pattison,  com- 
mandant of  the  city,  Baron  Riedesel  and 
others.  The  Ball  given  by  the  officers  of 
the  Army  was  magnificent.  It  cost  two 
thousand  guineas!  It  was  opened  by 
Major-General  Pattison  and  the  Baroness 
Riedesel,  a  very  attractive  woman.  The 
country-dances  began  at  nine  thirty.  At 
twelve,  supper;  in  the  two  long  rooms.  The 
tables  exhibited  a  most  elegant  appearance, 
being  ornamented  with  Parterres  and  Ar- 
bors displaying  an  elegant  assemblage  of 


A  REVOLUTIONARY  DIARY  259 

natural  and  artificial  flowers,  China  images, 
etc.  We  did  not  get  home  till  after  three 
in  the  morning. 

J.  A.  danced  the  minuet  with  me  just  be- 
fore supper.  He  asked  if  my  letter  was  fi- 
nal. Told  him  yes — that  I  could  not  bring 
myself  to  marry  any  one  who  was  fighting 
against  the  cause  which  was  so  dear  to  me. 

"Ever,  ever  thine,"  he  murmured  in  my 
ear,  as  he  gave  me  his  arm  and  we  went  into 
the  supper  rooms.  Both  much  agitated,  but 
had  to  face  the  company.  Major-General 
Pattison,  who  had  taken  out  the  Baroness 
Riedesel,  soon  catching  sight  of  my  escort, 
said  in  a  loud  voice  so  that  everybody  could 
hear  him:  "I  call  upon  the  adjutant-gen- 
eral for  a  song.  We  all  know  what  a  brave 
soldier  he  is;  and  yet  music  is,  perhaps,  not 
the  least  of  his  accomplishments.  Ladies 
and  gentlemen,  I  offer  the  toast,  our  worthy 
adjutant-general,  the  brave  soldier  and  the 
accomplished  gentleman,  Major  John  An- 
dre!" 

Came  home  and  sat  alone  for  hours  in 
my  room — until  the  sun  rose.  I  am  full 
of  sorrow  and  oppressed  with  the  sense  of 
solitude, 


260     A  DAUGHTER  OF  THE  REVOLUTION 

Mildred  closed  the  little  book.  For  a 
while  she  was  lost  in  thought.  Then  she  re- 
placed the  Diary  in  the  box,  shut  the  lid  and 
turned  the  key. 

"I  will  take  this  box  to  the  attic,"  she  said, 
"and  put  it  back  among  her  things.  The 
story  is  a  sacred  and  personal  one;  and  I  will 
keep  it  so." 


'CHAPTER  XXI 

TWO  INVITATIONS 

WHEN  Mildred  returned  to  Mrs.  Car- 
roll's she  tried  to  feel  as  if  she  were 
coming  home;  but  it  was  no  use.  Boarding- 
house  life  was  more  depressing  than  ever. 
Several  days  passed  before  she  became  ad- 
justed again  to  the  scenes.  Moreover,  it  was 
very  warm  and  she  felt  the  change  from  the 
country. 

One  morning  as  she  was  ascending  the 
stairs  just  after  breakfast  and  wondering  how 
she  could  possibly  live  through  another  sum- 
mer in  such  small  quarters,  she  met  Miss  Jes- 
sie Swann,  returning  from  an  early  walk  to 
the  florist's. 

"Oh,  Miss  Ashton,"  the  latter  exclaimed, 
"how  glad  I  am  to  see  you.  I  didn't  know 
you  had  got  back  yet.  My  sister  and  I  have 
been  talking  about  you  and  we  want  to  see 
you.  We  have  something  we  want  to  talk 
over  with  you.  Can  you  spare  us  a  few  min- 
utes?" 


262     A  DAUGHTER  OF  THE  REVOLUTION 

"With  pleasure,"  Mildred  responded,  fol- 
lowing Miss  Jessie  into  the  sitting-room, 
which  looked  so  cool  and  refreshing  in  its 
summer  attire  of  new  white  matting,  furni- 
ture covers  of  crisp  linen  and  the  mirrors  and 
pictures  immaculate  in  their  neatly  stretched 
veilings  of  white  net 

"Hatty!"  she  called.  "Here's  Miss  Ash- 
ton." 

"Oh,  how  do  you  do,  Miss  Ashton,  I  am  so 
glad  to  see  you,"  said  Miss  Hatty,  entering 
from  the  inner  room.  "Do  sit  down  a  few 
minutes.  My  sister  and  I  have  been  wanting 
to  see  you.  We  have  decided  to  go  to  Eu- 
rope," and  Miss  Hatty  paused  a  moment,  for 
she  had  not  become  quite  accustomed  to  this 
startling  fact;  "and  we  want  you  to  go  with 
us.  It  is  very  sudden  for  us,  because  we  gen- 
erally make  our  plans  a  long  way  ahead;  but 
we  have  never  been  abroad  and  Jessie  is  so 
anxious  to  go  that  she  has  persuaded  me. 
You  know  Europe;  and  we  think  it  would  be 
so  nice  if  you  would  go  with  us.  We  want 
you  to  arrange  the  whole  trip;  and,  as  you 
know  the  ropes,  we  will  leave  everything  to 
you.  Will  you  think  it  over?" 


TWO  INVITATIONS  263 

"I  can  answer  now,"  replied  Mildred.  "I 
shall  be  delighted  to  go." 

"Don't  feel  obliged  to  answer  at  once," 
said  Miss  Hatty,  who  was  deliberate. 
"Wouldn't  you  like  to  take  a  night's  sleep  on 
it?" 

"Oh,  how  sweet  you  are!"  exclaimed  the 
enthusiastic  Miss  Jessie,  putting  her  hand 
gently  on  Mildred's  arm. 

"Oh,  no,  thank  you,"  said  Mildred  to  Miss 
Hatty.  "I  always  know  my  own  mind 
quickly.  I  think  it  would  be  delightful. 
How  long  do  you  intend  to  stay?" 

"Why,"  said  Miss  Jessie,  who  was  unfold- 
ing the  white  tissue  paper  that  contained  the 
roses  she  had  just  purchased,  "we  think  of 
staying  a  little  over  a  year.  We  want  to  sail 
as  soon  as  we  can  get  passage — the  end  of  this 
month,  perhaps — and,  of  course,  being  there 
through  the  winter,  we  may  as  well  spend  the 
summer  and  come  back  a  year  from  next  Oc- 
tober." 

"That  gives  us  two  summers  and  a  winter 
in  Europe,"  added  Miss  Hatty. 

"I  think  that  is  a  lovely  plan,"  said  Mil- 
dred. "What  are  you  going  to  do  with 


264     A  DAUGHTER  OF  THE  REVOLUTION 

Cora?"  she  added,  as  the  latter  entered  with 
a  vase  for  Miss  Jessie. 

"Why,  Cora  goes  with  us,  of  course,"  said 
Miss  Hatty. 

"Do  you  want  to  go,  Cora?"  asked  Mil- 
dred. 

"Yes'm,"  answered  the  grinning  Cora,  her 
dark  skin  having  turned  a  little  dull  and 
ashy.  "Yes'm,  I  wants  to  go;  but  I'se 
skeered.  Miss  Hatty,  she  skeered,  too;  but 
she  don't  let  on,  like  I  does." 

"Oh,  we  couldn't  think  of  leaving  Cora," 
said  Miss  Jessie.  "We  couldn't  do  without 
Cora.  She's  one  of  the  family." 

"I  certainly  is,"  said  Cora,  who  was  watch- 
ing Miss  Jessie  arrange  the  flowers.  "I  cer- 
tainly is.  I  couldn't  do  without  you-all, 
either.  If  you-all  goes  to  de  bott'm,  I  goes, 


too." 


"What  do  you  want  me  to  do?"  Mildred 
asked  Miss  Hatty. 

"We  want  you  to  lay  out  the  whole  trip, 
Miss  Ashton,"  explained  Miss  Swann. 

"Then,"  said  Mildred,  "the  first  thing  to  do 
is  to  telephone  right  away  to  the  steamship 
companies  and  get  them  to  send  us  lists  of 
sailings." 


TWO  INVITATIONS  265 

"Yes.  Use  our  telephone.  Call  them  up 
now,"  suggested  Miss  Hatty,  who  was  begin- 
ning to  get  excited. 

"Do  you  care  about  any  special  line?" 
asked  Mildred. 

"No,"  replied  Miss  Jessie. 

"I  always  used  to  go  with  my  aunt,  Mrs. 
Van  Norden,  on  the  French  line,"  said  Mil- 
dred. "How  would  you  like  to  take  a 
French  steamer?  We  could  go  from  Cher- 
bourg directly  to  Paris — unless  you  would 
rather  go  to  England  first." 

"No,"  said  Miss  Jessie.  "I  want  to  go 
right  straight  to  Paris." 

"See  how  frivolous  my  sister  is,"  laughed 
Miss  Hatty.  "Nothing  but  Paris  will  suit 
her!" 

"But,  Hatty,"  Miss  Jessie  objected,  "Paris 
isn't  entirely  frivolous.  The  Louvre,  for  in- 
stance, isn't  frivolous.  I  have  always  wanted 
to  see  the  Louvre." 

"Let's  leave  England  until  the  very  last," 
suggested  Miss  Hatty.  "I  want  to  go  to 
Switzerland  and  to  Italy.  I  care  more  about 
seeing  Italy  than  any  other  country.  I  want 
to  go  to  Venice  and  to  Florence  and  to 
Rome." 


266     A  DAUGHTER  OF  THE  REVOLUTION 

"Suppose  then,"  said  Mildred,  "that  we 
spend  the  winter  in  Italy — having  Easter  in 
Rome — then  the  early  spring  in  Paris,  get  to 
London  in  May  for  the  season  and  give  the 
rest  of  the  summer  to  England.  We  could 
take  an  English  steamer  home,  from  Liver- 
pool, or  Southampton." 

'That  sounds  delightful,  Miss  Ashton," 
said  Miss  Hatty. 

"Oh,  I  think  it  is  splendid!"  cried  Miss 
Jessie.  "Perfectly  splendid!  I'm  so  glad  we 
are  going!" 

"I  am,  too,"  said  Miss  Hatty;  "but  oh!  to 
think  of  what  we  shall  have  to  do  to  get 
ready!" 

"I  reck'n  Cora's  got  to  whirl  in  and  be 
mighty  busy,  too,"  ejaculated  Cora. 

"I  reckon  she  has,"  said  Miss  Jessie,  em- 
phatically, looking,  with  a  smile,  at  Cora. 
"We'll  never  get  to  Europe,  if  you  stand  still 
like  this  all  day." 

Cora  never  moved.  She  merely  showed 
more  of  her  large,  white  teeth,  for  she  knew 
perfectly  well  that  Miss  Jessie  was  joking  and 
that  she  was  more  than  willing  that  Cora 
should  hear  the  discussion  of  all  the  arrange- 


TWO  INVITATIONS  267 

ments  for  the  trip  in  which  she  was  to  have 
a  part. 

"All  right,"  said  Mildred,  rising,  "I  will 
lay  out  two  or  three  tours  and  telephone  to 
the  office  of  the  French  company,  and  I'll  run 
down  again  later.  Shall  you  be  in  this  after- 
noon, Miss  Swann?" 

"Oh,  yes,"  replied  Miss  Hatty,  "think  of 
the  letters  that  we  have  to  write!" 

"Come  in  at  five  o'clock,"  said  Miss  Jes- 
sie, "and  have  a  cup  of  tea  with  us." 

"Let  her  come  before  five,  Jessie,"  said 
Miss  Hatty.  "Come  early,  Miss  Ashton,  and 
stay  to  tea." 

"Then  I'll  be  in  about  four  o'clock,"  said 
Mildred,  "and  we'll  talk  it  all  over.  I  am 
perfectly  delighted  to  go,  and  I  can't  thank 
you  half  enough  for  wanting  me." 

It  was  not  long  before  this  important  piece 
of  news  was  circulated  throughout  the  board- 
ing-house; but  the  greatest  effect  was  felt  in 
the  kitchen. 

Cora,  who  already  occupied  the  seat  of 
honor  at  the  kitchen  table,  began  to  assume 
an  extra  air  of  dignity  and  importance. 
Oscar  and  Saidee,  duly  impressed  with  her 


268     A  DAUGHTER  OF  THE  REVOLUTION 

forthcoming  trip,  accorded  to  her  all  that  she 
demanded.  Cora  was  looked  upon  already 
as  a  heroine  and  traveller  into  mysterious  and 
unknown  regions. 

iWhen  it  was  agreed  that  the  little  party 
should  sail  in  three  weeks,  Mildred,  too, 
found  that  she  had  much  to  do.  One  after- 
noon, after  she  had  been  paying  a  few  calls 
on  the  East  side,  she  concluded  to  walk  home. 

Wending  her  way  rather  slowly  along 
Fifth  Avenue,  Mildred  had  just  crossed 
Fifty-seventh  Street,  when  she  saw  coming 
towards  her  a  rather  slim  figure  in  a  tight 
fitting  frock  coat,  tall  collar,  bright  necktie 
and  top  hat.  It  looked  familiar. 

"Oh,  good  heavens!"  she  said  to  herself,  "I 
believe  that's  Bernard  Fogg!  I  hope  he 
hasn't  seen  me!" 

Alas!  Mildred,  alack  and  alas  for  you!  He 
has  seen  you.  In  fact,  he  has  been  following 
you  all  the  afternoon,  walking  on  the  other 
side  of  the  street.  He  has  walked  a  little 
faster  this  last  block  and  crossed.  Now  he  is 
coming  to  meet  you.  You  can't  escape  him. 

"Good  evening,"  said  Fogg,  lifting  his  hat. 
"I  will  join  you.  You  are  going  home,  I 
fancy?" 


TWO  INVITATIONS  269 

"Yes,"  replied  Mildred,  "I  am  going 
home." 

There  was  no  help  for  it. 

Apart  from  the  annoyance  of  his  unwished- 
for  presence,  Mildred  hoped  she  would  meet 
none  of  her  friends.  What  would  they 
think! 

At  any  rate,  she  hacl  to  try  to  accept  the 
situation  with  as  much  composure  as  she 
could  muster,  so  she  tried  to  make  the  best 
of  it. 

"It  is  a  lovely  afternoon,"  she  said,  "but  it 
is  getting  a  little  warm.  Fifth  Avenue  al- 
ready begins  to  look  deserted.  Everybody 
will  soon  be  going  away." 

Mildred  unwittingly  played  into  her  es- 
cort's hand.  This  gave  him  his  chance. 

"I  hear  you  are  going  to  Europe,  Miss 
Ashton,"  said  Bernard  Fogg,  "with  some 
friends.  How  would  you  like  to  go  with 
me?" 

Mildred  looked  amazed. 

"I  mean,  of  course,  as  Mrs.  Bernard  Fogg." 

Mildred  laughed  merrily.  She  could  not 
help  it. 

Mistaking  the  meaning  of  her  laugh,  Mr. 
Fogg  continued:  "I  have  been  thinking 


a;o     A  DAUGHTER  OF  THE  REVOLUTION 

about  this  for  a  long  time.  So  you  see  it  is 
nothing  new  to  me; — in  fact,  I  have  quite 
made  up  my  mind  to  it." 

Mildred  laughed  again.  It  was  too  ridicu- 
lous. 

"You  see,"  he  went  on,  "living  is  really 
cheaper  for  two  than  for  one.  I  get  three 
pounds — I  mean  fifteen  dollars — a  week;  and 
that  is  plenty  for  two  people.  I  have  many 
friends  in  London  who  would  consider  three 
pounds  a  week  quite  a  bit  of  money.  How 
much  do  you  make,  Miss  Ashton?" 

"Well,  that  is  rather  a  private  and  personal 
affair,"  replied  Mildred,  in  cool  tones, 
haughtily. 

"Oh  but  it  isn't,  you  know.  Not  alto- 
gether. It's  partly  my  affair.  I  am  making 
it  my  affair.  I  was  thinking  that  you  and  I 
together  might  count  on  five  pounds  a  week. 
Five  pounds  a  week!"  he  repeated.  "That 
is  quite  a  bit  of  money!  Our  music,  too — 
you  could  accompany  me  and  you  have  such 
good  connections.  You  could  get  me  draw- 
ing-room engagements  that  would  add  quite 
a  little  to  our  income.  Besides,"  he  contin- 
ued, "I  have  saved  a  little  and  we  could  use 
this  for  a  trip  home.  I  should  like  my  fam- 


TWO  INVITATIONS  271 

ily  to  see  you,  Miss  Ashton.  We  can  soon  get 
summer  rates ;  and,  of  course,  we  will  go  sec- 
ond class." 

"What?"  cried  Mildred. 

"Of  course,"  said  Bernard  Fogg.  "Why, 
aren't  you  and  the  Swanns  going  second 
class?" 

"Why,  no,"  said  Mildred.  She  was  look- 
ing at  him  now  with  a  steady,  level  gaze. 

Mr.  Fogg  failed  to  catch  the  meaning  of 
her  glance. 

"Why,  I  always  travel  second-class,"  he 
said,  "and  so  do  my  sisters.  I  should  never 
want  my  wife — Mrs.  Bernard  Fogg — to  have 
anything  better  than  my  sisters  have  had." 

"Mr.  Fogg,"  said  Mildred,  coldly,  "you 
don't  understand  me  at  all.  If  you  did,  you 
wouldn't  be  wasting  your  time  and  mine  on  a 
matter  to  which  there  can  be  but  one  answer. 
I  couldn't  consider  this  for  a  moment." 

"Yes,  but  you  will,"  replied  Bernard  Fogg, 
"you  will  consider  it  for  a  good  many  mo- 
ments. Women  always  talk  like  this.  In 
fact,  I  expected  some  such  answer." 

"I  am  glad  you  did,"  was  Mildred's  sharp 
retort,  "for  then  you  won't  get  a  shock." 

"I  like  to  see  you  when  you  talk  like  this. 


272     A  DAUGHTER  OF  THE  REVOLUTION 

It  gives  you  such  a  pretty  color,"  said  Mr. 
Fogg;  "you  look  quite  like  an  English  girl 


now." 


Mildred  had  reached  the  end  of  her  pa- 
tience. What  could  she  do?  Here  she  was 
only  at  Forty-second  Street!  She  counted 
two  more  blocks  on  Fifth  Avenue,  and  then 
Madison  Avenue  and  Park  Avenue  to  cross, 
and  another  long  block  to  Lexington  Avenue. 
"I  believe  I  have  twenty  minutes  more  of 
this!"  she  said.  "How  can  I  stand  it!" 

"You  will  come  to  think  of  this  as  I  do," 
said  Bernard  Fogg.  "You  will  come  to 
think  of  everything  as  I  do  in  time." 

Mildred  looked  at  him.  "God  forbid!" 
she  thought. 

"Moreover,"  he  went  on,  "you  will  come 
to  think  as  I  want  you  to  think.  You  will 
learn  to  be  an  English  wife  in  time.  I  think 
you  have  the  making  of  a  very  good  wife, 
Mildred." 

"Address  me  as  Miss  Ashton,  if  you  please," 
said  Mildred,  her  lips  quivering  and  her 
cheeks  burning  with  indignation. 

"You  have  a  splendid  color  now,"  said 
Fogg  admiringly.  "I  like  it,  you  know — 
really  now,  very  much." 


TWO  INVITATIONS  273 

Mildred  resolved  to  walk  the  rest  of  the 
way  in  silence.  Not  a  word  more  was  spoken 
as  the  two  passed  through  the  soft  blue  even- 
ing mist  that  had  descended  upon  the  streets 
and  through  which  the  lights  from  the  tall 
buildings  began  to  glimmer.  At  last  the  cor- 
ner of  Lexington  Avenue  was  reached;  and 
never  had  Mrs.  Carroll's  door  looked  so  wel- 
come to  Mildred. 

"Now,"  said  Bernard  Fogg,  taking  his 
latch-key  from  his  pocket  and  opening  the 
door,  "you  will  think  this  over  and — " 

"I  will  do  nothing  of  the  kind,"  said  Mil- 
dred, who  had  now  almost  regained  her 
equanimity.  "I  shall  never  give  it  another 
thought." 

Bernard  Fogg  turned.  Was  it  possible 
that  she  meant  what  she  said? 

"You  don't  seem  to  understand,"  he  ex- 
claimed. "There  are  a  great  many  girls  at 
home  who  would  be  proud  to  marry  me." 

"Go  and  marry  them  then,"  said  Mildred; 
"all  of  them!"  Then  she  added:  "I  will  not 
tell  you,  Mr.  Fogg,  what  I  really  think  of 
you,  for  I  do  not  believe  you  would  care  to 
hear  it.  Only  this;  please  don't  bring  up 
this  subject  again,  Mr.  Fogg." 


274     A  DAUGHTER  OF  THE  REVOLUTION 

Something  in  her  imperious  manner  com- 
pelled Fogg  to  stand  aside.  Mildred  darted 
into  the  hall  and  up  the  stairs,  with  the  de- 
termination to  find  Mrs.  Carroll  and  ask  her 
to  change  her  seat,  or  Fogg's,  at  the  table. 
"I'll  tell  Mrs.  Carroll  why,"  she  said.  "I 
can't  stand  a  repetition  of  this.  Mrs.  Carroll 
will  be  furious!" 


CHAPTER  XXII 

A  SUNDAY  MORNING 

THE  crisp,  flat  sheets  of  the  Sunday  papers 
lay  unfolded  on  the  large  table  in  the 
Conway  library  and  no  sound  broke  the  still- 
ness of  the  room  except  the  ticking  of  the 
clock,  the  ringing  of  the  Westminster  chimes 
at  every  quarter,  and  the  occasional  scratch- 
ing of  a  match,  as  Jack  Conway  started  a  fresh 
cigar,  or  renewed  the  light  of  one  partially 
smoked. 

Jack  had  been  up  since  six  o'clock. 

He  had  taken  an  early  stroll  in  Central 
Park,  which  was  still  wearing  its  June  beauty, 
and  had  lounged  for  a  while  on  one  of  the 
benches  feeding  the  squirrels  and  watching 
their  antics  and  labors.  Returning,  he  had 
breakfasted  lightly — alone,  as  usual — and  had 
retired  to  the  library,  where  he  was  accus- 
tomed to  spend  his  Sunday  mornings. 

As  a  rule,  he  read  the  papers  thoroughly 
and  then  glanced  over  the  new  American, 

275 


276     A  DAUGHTER  OF  THE  REVOLUTION 

English  and  French  novels  that  came  regu- 
larly every  week  from  a  Fifth  Avenue  book- 
seller. 

It  was  a  duty  of  Francois  to  open  the  heavy 
package  immediately  on  its  arrival,  so  that 
the  new  volumes  might  be  displayed  on  the 
library  table  without  delay  and  be  within  reach 
of  everybody.  But  this  morning  the  master 
of  the  house  was  as  indifferent  to  literature  as 
he  was  to  the  newspapers. 

Taking  a  strong  cigar  from  the  box  that  was 
standing  open  near  the  pile  of  newspapers, 
Jack  lit  it  thoughtfully  and  dropped  into  an 
easy  chair.  Hours  passed,  and  still  he  sat 
there,  contemplating  not  only  the  cigar  and 
the  smoke,  but  the  past,  present  and  future  of 
Jack  Conway,  the  millionaire  broker,  whose 
fortune  had  not  brought  him  the  one  thing  he 
desired, — happiness. 

These  morning  hours  passed  away  like  the 
cigars,  leaving  no  trace  behind  but  the  ashes 
of  buried  hopes. 

Was  it  only  yesterday  afternoon  that  he  saw 
Mildred  off  for  Europe? 

It  seemed  an  age  already  1  Would  Time 
make  this  parting  easier,  or  harder? 

Jack  had  known  for  three  months  that  his 


A  SUNDAY  MORNING  277 

dream  was  over, — that  Mildred  never  could 
be  his;  but  he  had  realized  it  the  more  sharply 
and  emphatically  yesterday  when  he  heard 
that  deep,  sombre  note  of  the  steamer  as  she 
bade  the  shore  farewell  and  bore  Mildred  out 
into  the  vasty  deep, — like  some  huge  bird,  a 
roc  of  the  Thousand  and  One  Nights,  per- 
haps, carrying  off  a  peerless  princess  while  the 
bystanders  looked  on,  helpless. 

Mildred  was  gone, — gone  for  a  year!  And 
with  her  departure  the  brightness  of  the  sun- 
light, the  tenderness  of  the  moonlight,  the  per- 
fume of  flowers  and  all  the  joy  and  vitality 
of  existence  had  vanished,  too.  Nothing  was 
left.  Life  seemed  cold,  hard  and  unbeautiful. 

The  daily  vase  of  Catherine  Mermets  was 
standing  on  the  table.  It  happened  to  be  near 
Jack's  box  of  cigars.  Jack  remembered  how 
often  Mildred  used  to  take  a  rose  out  of  this 
very  vase  and  put  it  on.  She  wore  one  that 
memorable  night  of  Tristan. 

Jack  rang  for  Francois. 

"Franqois,  otez  les  fleurs.  Elles  me  font 
du  mal  ce  matin." 

"Ota,  M'sieur"  replied  the  butler,  as  he 
bore  away  the  roses  in  wonderment  at  this  un- 
usual order. 


278     A  DAUGHTER  OF  THE  REVOLUTION 

Associations  were  not  only  painful,  but 
every  sound  went  through  Jack  like  a  sharp 
stab.  The  hoot  of  a  passing  automobile,  the 
occasional  ringing  of  the  telephone  and  the 
voice  of  Frangois  attending  to  it,  the  strains 
of  a  Chopin  Polonaise  coming  in  from  a 
neighbor's  open  window,  the  pat-pat-pat  of 
Pompon's  tiny  feet  as  he,  in  search  of  com- 
pany, ran  in  to  make  a  visit,  awakened  Jack 
to  the  realization  of  how  sensitive  the  nerves 
of  the  ear  are  when  the  heart  is  aching. 

Jack  did  not  intend  to  bear  the  strain  of  the 
present  much  longer.  The  setting  of  his 
troubled  existence  was  soon  to  be  changed; 
and  even  if  Sorrow  must  henceforth  be  his 
companion  new  scenes  might  prevent  him 
from  going  mad,  as  he  sometimes  felt  he  must. 

It  was  easy  for  Jack  to  order  his  life  in 
fresh  fields  in  a  dignified  way.  How  simple 
a  matter  to  open  a  branch  of  his  bank  in 
Shanghai;  and  what  more  natural  than  that 
the  senior  partner  should  be  on  the  spot  to 
organize  it? 

Jack  had  arranged  every  detail,  although 
he  had  not  told  Louise  of  it,  as  yet.  His  pur- 
pose was  to  leave  New  York  in  two  weeks. 
He  thought  he  would  go  through  the  form  of 


A  SUNDAY  MORNING  279 

inviting  Louise  to  accompany  him.  She 
would  refuse,  of  course,  and  then  would  fol- 
low naturally  a  discussion  of  her  future  plans. 
Jack  would  then  announce  that  he  intended 
to  remain  in  China  indefinitely.  Louise 
would  understand  by  that  that  she  would  be 
free  to  arrange  her  life  as  she  pleased. 

There  were  to  be  no  guests  to  luncheon ;  and 
Jack  had,  therefore,  decided  that  he  would 
see  Louise  immediately  after  their  noon  meal 
and  "have  it  over." 

If  Jack  had  spent  a  more  indolent  morning 
than  usual,  Louise  had  spent  a  much  busier 
one.  As  a  rule,  she  rose  on  Sundays  just  in 
time  for  luncheon,  and  tripped  downstairs  to 
meet  her  guests  with  a  fresh  complexion, 
bright  eyes  and  a  ravishing  costume. 

This  morning,  however,  she  rose  soon  after 
the  first  rays  of  the  sun,  piercing  through  the 
window-curtains  of  daffodil  silk,  played  with 
the  rich  silver  toilet  articles  on  the  dressing- 
table.  She  had  dressed  quickly  and  with- 
out the  assistance  of  Annette. 

Louise  had  much  to  do. 

"I  wish,"  she  exclaimed,  petulantly,  as  she 
seated  herself  before  her  desk,  "I  wish  I  had 
not  promised  Phil  that  I  would  sail  next  week. 


2&>     A  DAUGHTER  OF  THE  REVOLUTION 

It  gives  me  so  little  time.  I  am  so  flurried 
already  that  I  am  nearly  beside  myself.  I've 
got  a  great  deal  to  do  before  I  can  get  off  com- 
fortably; and  there  are  always  so  many  things 
that  come  up  unexpectedly.  This  is  a  nui- 
sance— a  perfect  nuisance!  There  is  a  lot  of 
business  to  be  attended  to,  too.  When  things 
are  well  put  together  and  run  along  easily, 
Life  is  perfectly  simple;  but  when  you  begin 
to  pull  things  to  pieces — oh !  what  a  mess  you 
make!  This  little  establishment  is  running 
along  smoothly;  I  have  everything  just  as  I 
want  it;  Jack  lets  me  alone;  I  do  as  I  please; 
I  have  hosts  of  nice  friends;  I  have — why 
should  I  go  anyhow?  What  am  I  going  to 
gain  by  it?  I  don't  know  if  I  am  not  giving 
up  too  much  after  all !" 

Louise's  glance  travelled  rapidly  around  the 
room  with  all  its  elegancies  and  luxuries.  It 
was  hard  to  detach  herself  from  this  charm- 
ing boudoir,  furnished  precisely  to  her  liking 
in  the  style  Pompadour,  after  many  confer- 
ences with  an  experienced  decorator.  Then 
her  mind  quickly  placed  before  her  in  rapid 
succession  pictures  of  the  familiar  drawing- 
rooms,  the  hall,  the  reception-room,  the  li- 
brary, the  dining-room  and  the  model  French 


A  SUNDAY  MORNING  281 

kitchen,  where  such  choice  dishes  were  pre- 
pared. Everything  was  certainly  not  only 
beautifully  appointed,  but  in  perfect  running 
order. 

"Yes ;  Phil  De  Witt  has  asked  a  great  deal 
of  me,"  Louise  said  aloud.  "A  very  great 
deal.  What  has  he  ta  offer  in  return  for  my 
sacrifice?" 

Louise,  to  her  own  intense  surprise,  was  be- 
ginning to  realize  that  the  idea  of  Philip  De 
Witt's  sole  companionship  spread  over  an  in- 
definite period  of  European  travel  was  likely 
to  pall  upon  her,  now  that  matters  were  draw- 
ing to  a  focus. 

Was  Philip  De  Witt  growing  a  little  fade 
already? 

"Why  should  I  leave  this?"  she  mused.  "I 
know  what  I  have.  'Better  bear' — how  is  it? 
— 'Better  bear  the  ills  we  have  than  fly  to  those 
we — we' — I  forget  how  it  goes.  But  never 
mind!  I'm  as  happy  as  most  of  the  people 
I  know.  I  think  I  will  call  it  off!  Why, 
Pompon!"  turning  to  the  little  dog  as  he 
bounded  into  the  room  and  jumped  into  her 
lap.  "Where  have  you  been?  You  naughty, 
naughty  darling,  not  to  have  been  to  see  me 
before  this  morning!  Why  didn't  you?  Oh, 


282     A  DAUGHTER  OF  THE  REVOLUTION 

I  know.  I  am  up  so  much  earlier  than  usual. 
N'est  ce  pas,  duckie?  Pompon,  beeyootiful 
sing,  I  think  you  have  just  missed  a  trip  to 
Europe!  I'm  not  quite  sure;  but  I  think  we 
are  not  going,  after  all!" 

Then  changing  her  voice  to  a  more  serious 
tone,  Louise  said:  "I  believe  I'll  call  Phil 
up  now  and  tell  him  to  postpone  the  sailing 
for  another  week.  That  will  give  me  time  to 
think  it  all  over  and  balance  up  the  whole 
thing  more  carefully.  I'm  not  a  flighty  girl 
of  eighteen  and  I  have  a  position  to  consider. 
It's  true  people  don't  think  of  divorce  as  they 
did  when  I  was  a  child;  but,  after  all,  an  es- 
tablished position,  free  from  any  touch  of 
scandal,  counts  for  something  in  the  world. 
It  is  not  a  question  of  right  or  wrong — at 
least,  it  doesn't  seem  so  to  me — it's  a  question 
of  taste!"  Then  she  laughed,  adding: 
''Perhaps  I'm  losing  my  taste  for  Phil!  I'll 
call  him  up,  any  way,  and  change  the  date. 
Jump  down,  Pompon!  Be  quiet  now;  I'm 
going  to  telephone." 

As  Louise  held  up  her  finger,  the  obedient 
little  dog  sat  down  on  the  folds  of  her  loose 
gown  and  watched  his  mistress  as  she  tele- 
phoned, pricking  up  his  ears  to  listen. 


A  SUNDAY  MORNING  283 

"Phil,  I  suppose  you  are  amazed  to  be  called 
up  by  me  at  this  outrageously  early  hour;  but 
I  want  to  tell  you  that  I  can't  possibly  get  off 
by  next  Saturday.  I've  been  up  ages  already, 
working  at  my  desk;  and  I  see  that  it  will  be 
perfectly  impossible  for  me  to  manage  it. 
There's  so  much  to  do*  Now  run  along,  like 
a  dear,  to-morrow  morning  the  first  thing  to 
the  White  Star  office  and  change  the  sailing 
to  the  next  week;  and  if  you  can't  get  passage 
then,  take  the  week  after.  Perhaps  that 
would  be  still  better  anyway." 

There  was  a  pause. 

Pompon  gave  two  short,  sharp  barks  and 
then  broke  out  into  a  series  of  whines:  what 
was  the  matter  with  dear  Mistress? 

On  hearing  the  reply  to  her  airy  command, 
Louise's  face  had  turned  white  and  hard. 
Every  particle  of  color  had  also  left  her  lips. 
The  hand  that  held  the  telephone  trembled 
with  agitation. 

Mr.  Phil  De  Witt  had  made  a  mistake.  He 
had  given  evidence  of  his  high  temper  and  in- 
flexible will  a  little  too  soon.  Mr.  De  Witt 
had  no  idea  of  losing  Louise  now  that  he  had 
brought  her  to  the  point;  and  he,  therefore, 
received  her  instructions  in  a  mood  that  as- 


284     A  DAUGHTER  OF  THE  REVOLUTION 

tonished  Louise  beyond  bounds.  His  blunt 
phrases  also  gave  her  a  shock;  for  Mr.  De 
Witt  told  Mrs.  Conway  very  peremptorily 
that  she  must  be  ready;  that  everything  was 
arranged;  and  that  he  would  not  consider 
changing  the  plans  now. 

There  was,  moreover,  a  new  note  in  his 
voice,  to  which  Louise  was  unaccustomed 
from  him,  or  from  any  one  else, — a  note  of 
angry  determination. 

Louise's  quick  mind  suddenly  filled  with  a 
suggestion  that  perhaps  Mr.  Philip  De  Witt, 
as  a  guest  in  the  Conway  house  and  Mr.  Philip 
De  Witt  under  every  day  conditions  might 
prove  to  be  two  different  personages. 

Louise  was  frightened  as  well  as  irritated. 

There  was  a  pause;  and  then  Pompon  heard 
Louise's  voice  in  a  very  cold  and  emphatic 
tone  saying:  "You  needn't  come  at  all  this 
afternoon.  I  sha'n't  see  you  if  you  do.  I 
shall  be  very  tired  and  I  intend  to  be  excused 
to  every  one.  Good-bye." 

Louise  stood  the  telephone  on  her  desk  and 
hung  up  the  receiver.  "Well !"  she  exclaimed, 
taking  a  deep  breath.  "Well  I  I'm  lucky  to 
find  this  out  nowl" 


CHAPTER  XXIII 

'TWIXT  THE  CUP  AND  THE  LIP 


into  the  library,  Louise,"  said 
Jack,  immediately  after  luncheon. 
"I've  something  I  want  to  talk  to  you  about." 

"That  sounds  serious,"  replied  Louise. 
"Yes,  I'll  come.  I  was  going  to  write  some 
letters,  but  they  can  wait." 

Following  her  husband  into  his  den,  Lou- 
ise was  no  sooner  seated  in  the  chair  that  Jack 
had  pulled  forward  for  her  near  the  cool 
breeze  that  was  slightly  waving  the  curtains 
of  the  one  large  window,  than  she  exclaimed  : 
"Oh,  dear!  what  a  smell  of  stale  smoke! 
Jack,  you  must  have  been  smoking  the  whole 
morning.  I  can't  possibly  listen  to  you  in 
this  stuffy  atmosphere.  Let's  take  a  drive. 
You  order  the  car  for  five  o'clock;  and  in 
•the  meantime,  I'll  go  and  take  a  rest.  I'm 
dreadfully  tired.  I've  been  up  since  day- 
break. I'll  be  ready  between  five  and  half- 

past     I  haven't  had  any  fresh  air  all  day. 

285 


286     A  DAUGHTER  OF  THE  REVOLUTION 

I'd  like  a  drive  very  much.  I  suppose  the 
matter  can  wait  that  long, — can't  it?" 

"Oh,  yes,  Louise,"  answered  Jack.  "And 
it  won't  take  very  long  to  discuss.  If  you 
want  a  drive,  I'll  be  very  glad  to  go  with 
you.  The  air  will  do  us  both  good." 

"All  right,"  replied  Louise,  as  she  fluttered 
away. 

"I  knew  Jack  was  planning  to  make  a 
move,"  Louise  said  to  herself,  as  she  threw 
her  dressing-gown  around  her  and  took  a  rest- 
ful posture  on  the  sofa  in  her  bedroom.  "I 
wonder  what  he  is  going  to  do?  I  shall  soon 
know.  All  this  upheaval  and  uncertainty  is 
extremely  trying.  However,  I  will  try  to  for- 
get everything  for  a  while  and  get  a  little 
nap." 

Pushing  the  electric  button  near  the  sofa 
that  always  summoned  Annette,  Louise  told 
her  maid  to  call  her  at  half-past  four  and  that 
she  would  wear  her  new  taupe  crepe  de  chine 
and  brown  hat  with  the  blue  plumes. 

At  half-past  five  Louise  floated  down 
stairs,  looking  very  fresh  and  charming.  Her 
costume  was  most  becoming;  and,  as  she 
stopped  before  the  mirror  in  the  hall  to  tie 
on  her  long  blue  chiffon  veil,  Jack  noticed 


TWIXT  THE  CUP  AND  THE  LIP      287 

the  fine  lines  of  her  new  gown  and  her  stylish 
slippers  that  matched  the  costume. 

"Where  shall  we  go?"  asked  Jack,  as  the 
chauffeur,  with  his  hand  on  the  wheel,  turned 
his  head  for  the  order. 

"Oh,  I  don't  care,"  said  Louise.  "Let's 
have  a  couple  of  hours,." 

"Go  up  Riverside,"  said  Jack  to  the  chauf- 
feur. 

For  a  little  while  neither  spoke.  The  day 
had  been  very  warm.  It  was  pleasant  to  sit 
quietly  and  enjoy  the  refreshing  air  as  the 
motor  sped  through  Central  Park.  Pres- 
ently, when  they  were  well  along  Riverside 
Drive,  Jack  broke  the  silence. 

"I  am  going  to  open  a  bank  in  Shanghai, 
Louise,  and  I  am  going  there  to  run  it  myself 
for  a  time." 

"You  are?"  exclaimed  Louise,  a  little 
startled  by  this  announcement.  "When  do 
you  expect  to  go?" 

"In  two  weeks,"  replied  Jack.  "My  ar- 
rangements are  all  made." 

"Isn't  this  rather  sudden?"  asked  Louise. 

"No,"  Jack  answered.  "I've  had  it  under 
consideration  for  some  time.  Everything 
seems  sudden  when  it  happens,  you  know. 


288     A  DAUGHTER  OF  THE  REVOLUTION 

The  question  that  concerns  me  now,"  he  added 
after  a  pause,  "is  what  shall  we  do  with  the 
house.  Would  you  care  to  keep  it,  or  shall 
we  sell  out,  or  shall  we  store  the  furniture  and 
rent  the  house,  or  shall  we  try  to  rent  it  fur- 
nished? I  want  your  ideas." 

"I'm  sure  I  don't  know,"  answered  Louise, 
who  at  that  moment  when  her  tasteful  and 
comfortable  home  seemed  to  be  drifting  away 
from  her,  began  to  cherish  a  warm  feeling  for 
the  house  and  all  it  contained.  Quickly  her 
mind,  penetrating  into  the  future,  saw  Louise 
Conway  without  a  background.  She  did  not 
relish  the  idea  of  wandering  from  pillar  to 
post  seeking  for  new  sensations  and  gossiped 
about  whenever  she  appeared  in  London, 
Paris,  or  New  York  society.  It  would  re- 
quire a  great  deal  of  energy  to  re-establish 
herself.  Mrs.  Jack  Conway  had  her  place 
in  the  world.  What  position  would  Mrs. 
Philip  De  Witt  occupy?  The  fabric  that 
Philip  De  Witt  had  erected  rested  on  shifting 
sands.  Its  colors  were  fading,  too.  Louise 
was  beginning  to  have  misgivings  that  Mr. 
De  Witt  was  not  possessed  of  enough  personal 
charm  to  hold  her  interest,  much  less  her  af- 
fection. It  was  a  dangerous  experiment. 


TWIXT  THE  CUP  AND  THE  LIP      289 

Was  it  worth  while?  The  episode  of  the  tele- 
phone this  morning  had  brought  her  to  her 
senses.  It  was  very  probable  that  she  might 
miss  Jack's  generous  treatment.  She  now  had 
complete  independence.  Why  surrender  it? 

There  had  been  a  long  interval  of  silence 
while  Louise  thought  vail  this  over  and  Jack 
mused  quietly,  his  eyes  on  the  beautiful  river. 

Again  Jack  broke  the  silence. 

"Louise,"  he  said,  not  reading  her  thoughts, 
but  imagining  that  she  was  trying  to  come  to 
a  decision,  "it  isn't  fair  for  me  to  expect  you 
to  answer  such  a  question  in  a  minute.  Think 
it  over.  I  suppose,"  he  added  with  a  bitter 
laugh,  "you  wouldn't  care  to  go  to  Shanghai 
with  me?" 

"I'm  not  at  all  sure  that  I  wouldn't,"  was 
Louise's  astonishing  answer.  "I  think  I 
should  like  to  see  China  very  much." 

"Come  along  then,"  replied  Jack,  surprised 
and  bewildered  anew  as  to  the  rapidly  veering 
mind  of  woman. 

Louise  saw  in  this  trip  an  easy  solution  of 
the  whole  situation.  Besides  Jack  was  a 
most  agreeable  travelling  companion:  he 
made  everything  so  easy  and  comfortable. 
Phil  De  Witt's  travelling  qualifications  were 


290     A  DAUGHTER  OF  THE  REVOLUTION 

as  yet  untried.  He  might  be  irritable  over 
little  things.  He  looked  it.  The  more  Lou- 
ise considered  the  question,  the  more  Shang- 
hai smiled  upon  her. 

"Yes,  Jack,"  she  said,  more  emphatically, 
"I  think  I'd  like  to  go  to  China  very  much. 
We  could  leave  Francois  in  charge  of  every- 
thing; and  when  we  felt  like  returning  the 
house  would  be  here  in  readiness — undis- 
turbed— to  receive  us.  You  have  always 
made  life  easy  for  me  and  I  don't  see  why  we 
should  have  a  domestic  earthquake.  It  is  so 
unnecessary.  We  are  perfectly  adjusted  to 
our  life, — why  change  things?" 

"I'm  willing,"  replied  Jack.  "I  think  we 
may  as  well  let  matters  stand  as  they  are.  We 
are  as  happy  as  most  people,  I  suppose.  One 
thing  we  can  say  for  ourselves, — we  do  allow 
each  other  perfect  liberty  and  independence. 
That's  something!" 

"It's  a  great  deal  to  me,"  replied  Louise. 
"Jack,  there  is  one  thing  that  you  are  not, — 
and  that  is  a  tyrant!  You're  very  easy  going 
and  considerate.  I  was  thinking  of  taking  a 
trip  myself, — going  to  Europe.  I  want  new 
scenes  and  new  people  for  a  time;  and  I  think 
China  is  just  the  thing  to  interest  me." 


TWIXT  THE  CUP  AND  THE  LIP      291 

"Can  you  be  ready  in  two  weeks?"  asked 
Jack.  "I  can  easily  make  it  a  week  later,  if 
that  would  suit  you  better." 

"Oh,  no,"  said  Louise.  "Annette  will  pack 
everything;  and,  as  we  are  not  going  to  break 
up,  there  is  nothing  that  can't  be  ordered,  or 
attended  to,  speedily." 

Again  there  was  an  interval  of  silence.  The 
car  now  turned  into  Riverside  Drive  on  its 
homeward  run. 

"What  a  perfect  sunset!"  exclaimed  Jack. 

"Where?"  responded  Louise  languidly — 
"oh,  yes — over  there.  How  pretty!" 

The  glassy  waters  of  the  Hudson  were  now 
returning  to  the  skies  some  of  the  reflected 
beauty  of  the  amethystine  clouds  whose  deli- 
cate golden  radiance  fast  turned  into  the 
deeper  reds  and  purples  of  the  afterglow. 
Soon  the  darker  blues  of  twilight  fell  upon 
the  ever-restless  waves  and  the  leafy  foliage 
and  grassy  terraces  of  the  Drive.  Here  and 
there  a  group  of  slender  trees,  seen  through 
the  veil  of  evening  mist,  looked  as  if  they 
might  have  been  cut  from  the  background  of 
a  mural  painting  by  Puvis  de  Chavannes. 

When  the  car  swirled  into  Central  Park, 
the  blue  twilight  lay  like  a  scarf  upon  the 


292     A  DAUGHTER  OF  THE  REVOLUTION 

landscape.  The  Sunday  crowds  were  begin- 
ning to  scatter  and  the  automobiles  were  turn- 
ing on  their  lights. 

"Any  one  dining  to-night  with  us?"  asked 
Jack,  as  he  handed  Louise  out  of  the  car. 

"Only  the  Taylors." 

"Is  De  Witt  coming?" 

"No,"  replied  Louise.  "I  didn't  invite 
him  for  to-night.  The  Taylors  don't  like 
him." 

"What  time  do  we  dine?"  asked  Jack. 

"Half-past  eight,"  replied  Louise,  as  she 
started  up  the  stairway. 

Before  ringing  for  Annette,  Louise  seated 
herself  at  her  desk. 

"What  a  long  day!"  she  exclaimed,  as  she 
counted  the  hours  that  had  passed  since  she 
was  sitting  in  this  spot.  "What  a  long,  long 
day!" 

Taking  a  sheet  of  delicately  perfumed 
paper  from  one  of  the  pigeon-holes  and  dip- 
ping her  pen  in  the  heavy  silver  inkstand,  Lou- 
ise paused  a  moment.  "Now  here  goes!"  she 
said: 

Dear  Phil: 

You  will  be  surprised  to  hear  that  I  am  going  to 
China  on  July  loth.  Jack  is  opening  a  bank  in  Shang- 


'TWIXT  THE  CUP  AND  THE  LIP      293 

hai.     We  shall  be  gone  at  least  a  year.     This  is  to  say 
good-bye. 

With  best  wishes,  I  am 

Sincerely  yours, 

LOUISE  CONWAY. 

"There!"  said  Louise.  "That's  over!  I 
wish  I  could  see  the  expression  of  Phil  De 
Witt's  face  when  he  reads  this.  I  know  just 
what  he  will  say — what  he  is  all  the  time  say- 
ing— 'You  never  can  depend  upon  a  woman !' ' 


CHAPTER  XXIV 

YE  SUN  WILL  SHINE 

travels  in  divers  paces  with  div- 
ers  persons";  and  during  the  twelve 
months  that  had  passed  he  had  galloped  with 
the  European  party  and  had  stood  still  with 
some  of  those  who  had  spent  this  year  in  New 
York. 

Life  had  ebbed  away  slowly  enough  with 
Gilbert  Greene,  who  not  only  missed  the 
gatherings  at  the  Conways',  but  the  whole  city 
seemed  changed  with  Mildred  out  of  it. 
There  was  a  sense  of  desolation  everywhere 
he  went. 

Glancing  at  his  calendar  on  the  morning 
of  June  the  twenty-fourth,  as  he  was  shaving, 
he  remembered  that  it  was  just  a  year  ago  that 
he  had  watched  the  big  steamer  slipping 
slowly  out  of  her  dock.  The  picture  came 
back  vividly  to  him  at  intervals  all  through 
the  day  of  Mildred  standing  out  prominently 
among  the  travellers  at  the  rail  waving  hand- 


YE  SUN  WILL  SHINE  295 

kerchiefs,  caps  and  hats  to  upturned  faces  of 
their  friends  on  the  pier  below.  Mildred 
was  wearing  the  lilies-of-the-valley  that  he 
had  brought  to  say  the  farewell  he  could  not 
speak;  and  as  she  passed  from  sight  he  fancied 
that  her  last  glance  was  directed  to  him. 

It  was  now  four  o'clock.     Gilbert  was  sit- 
ting in  his  office  in  the  top  floor  of  a  sky- 
scraper on  Fifth  Avenue,  just  finishing  the 
dictation  of  a  letter,  when  he  was  interrupted 
by  the  ringing  of  the  telephone  on  his  desk. 
His  stenographer  was  too  well-acquainted 
with  Mr.  Greene's  expressions  not  to  notice  the 
excitement  beneath  his  voice  as  he  answered: 
"Why,  how  are  you?" 

(Pause). 
"When  did  you  get  in?" 

(Pause). 

"Yesterday?     How  nice  of  you  to  call  me 
up?" 

(Pause). 
"That's  still  nicer." 

(Pause). 
"This  evening?" 

(Pause). 

"Yes,  with  pleasure.    What  time?" 
(Pause). 


296     A  DAUGHTER  OF  THE  REVOLUTION 

"Where  are  you  staying?" 

"All  right,  then.  Eight  o'clock.  Au  re- 
voir!" 

Gilbert  turned  to  the  stenographer: 

"Where  were  we?  Please  read  that  last 
sentence?" 

"If  you  agree  with  me,"  the  stenographer 
read,  "that  the  Italian  villa  is  the  best  model 
for  your  site — " 

"With  a  series  of  terraces  to  the  sea-wall," 
added  the  architect,  "kindly  let  me  hear  from 
you  at  an  early  date,  and  I  will  send  you  sev- 
eral plans. 

"Faithfully  yours, 

"That  will  do,  Miss  North,  thank  you,  for 
this  afternoon.  Just  copy  this  letter  and  give 
it  to  me  to  sign.  I  will  sign  the  others  to- 
morrow morning." 

A  few  moments  later  Gilbert  Greene  was 
quickly  moving  through  the  busy  throng  of 
smartly  dressed  shoppers  on  Fifth  Avenue 
and  slipping  through  the  long  lines  of  auto- 
mobiles to  his  bachelor  apartment. 

Three  hours  is  a  long  time  to  wait  when  one 
has  an  unexpected  and  delightful  appointment 
in  view.  These  three  hours  seemed  to  Gil- 
bert the  longest  he  had  ever  experienced. 


YE  SUN  WILL  SHINE  297 

At  a  quarter  before  eight  he  was  walking 
down  Fortieth  Street;  and,  consequently,  he 
arrived  at  Mrs.  Carroll's  a  little  ahead  of 
time. 

"It  was  so  good  of  you  to  send  for  me  to 
come  right  away,"  he  said,  as  Mildred  en- 
tered. 

"I  wanted  to  see  you,"  replied  Mildred. 

Gilbert  smiled.  "You  came  home  sooner 
than  you  expected, — didn't  you?" 

"Yes;  we  expected  to  return  in  October; 
but  the  two  Miss  Swanns  had  to  come  home 
on  account  of  some  money  matters.  Their 
lawyer  sent  for  them.  They  are  going  to 
Baltimore  to-morrow.  I  wasn't  sorry.  I  am 
perfectly  delighted  to  be  home  again." 

"You  had  a  delightful  trip?" 

"Wonderful,"  replied  Mildred,  "simply 
wonderful.  Nothing  happened  to  spoil  it 
anywhere.  First,  we  went  to  France.  We 
landed  at  Cherbourg,  as  you  know,  and  went 
directly  to  Paris;  in  August  we  went  to 
Switzerland;  and  then  we  went  to  Italy.  We 
spent  the  winter  in  Rome.  After  Easter  we 
went  back  to  Paris ;  and  then  we  went  to  Lon- 
don. We  expected  to  spend  the  summer  in 
England ;  but,  in  the  most  unforeseen  way,  the 


2-98     A  DAUGHTER  OF  THE  REVOLUTION 

two  Miss  Swanns  were  suddenly  called 
home." 

"How  was  Paris?"  asked  Gilbert. 

"Lovely!"  exclaimed  Mildred.  "Lovely! 
There's  only  one  Paris!  I  hated  to  leave  it. 
We  had  a  lovely  time  there.  Didn't  you  re- 
ceive any  postal  cards  from  me  from  Paris? 
I  sent  you  several.  I  had  to  think  of  you  in 
Paris,  Mr.  Greene." 

"Yes,  I  did,"  answered  Gilbert.  "I  did; 
and  I  ought  to  have  acknowledged  them. 
Please  forgive  me." 

"I  thought  perhaps  you  didn't  care  for 
them." 

"On  the  contrary,  I  was  delighted  to  re- 
ceive them.  You  sent  me,  too,  all  my  favor- 
ite haunts.  Now  tell  me  something  about 
London.  How  did  you  like  London?" 

"London?  Immensely!  It  seemed  to  me 
more  historic,  somehow,  than  Paris.  I  don't 
know  why,  but  it  did.  It  is  such  a  vast  huge 
city — its  vastness  impressed  me.  I  felt  that 
even  if  Paris  were  picked  up  and  placed  in 
London  it  would  just  be  swallowed  up  and 
made  a  quarter  in  London.  I  could  never 
imagine  London  becoming  a  quarter  of  Paris. 
[That's  the  difference.  London  is  so  strange, 


IVE  SUN  WILL  SHINE  299 

so  peculiar,  so  archaic  in  some  ways  and  so 
modern  in  others,  mysterious,  unfathomable 
city!  And  such  violent  contrasts!  Such 
wealth  and  such  poverty!  Such  elegance  and 
such  indifference!  London  seemed  to  me  a 
great  queen  dressed  in  velvet  and  rags, — 
magnificent  and  squalid  at  the  same  time.  I 
think  London  a  very  beautiful  city — the 
vistas  are  so  wonderful  and  the  atmospheric 
effects  most  exquisite.  I  love  St.  Paul's,  with 
its  splendid  dome,  that  seems  to  hover  over  the 
great  capital.  Indeed,  Mr.  Greene,  when- 
ever I  think  of  London,  I  think  of  St.  Paul's 
seen  from  London  Bridge.  I  had  my  first 
view  of  St.  Paul's  in  the  moonlight;  and  it 
looked  as  if  it  were  made  of  black  velvet  and 
snow.  I  shall  never  forget  that  impression. 
Oh,  by  the  way,  I  made  a  discovery  in  St. 
Paul's,  or  rather,  I  think  I  did.  When  I 
went  to  a  service  there,  I  was  struck  by  the 
peculiar  beauty  of  the  singing  of  the  chor- 
isters, whose  voices  seemed  to  come  from  the 
dome  and  float  down  to  us  through  the  dim 
mists;  and  it  occurred  to  me  that  Wagner  may 
have  tried  to  reproduce  these  effects  in 
Parsifal,  by  arranging  the  knights,  squires 
and  youths  at  various  stages  in  the  dome  of 


300     A  DAUGHTER  OF  THE  REVOLUTION 

Monsalvat  to  sing  of  the  'wondrous  work  of 
mercy  and  salvation/ ' 

"Yes,"  said  Gilbert,  "I  shouldn't  wonder. 
The  acoustics  are  most  peculiar  in  St.  Paul's. 
Did  you  see  the  Whispering  Gallery  and  the 
.Geometrical  Staircase?" 

"Oh,  yes,"  answered  Mildred,  "and  the 
choir-stalls.  Oh,  those  choir-stalls!" 

"Aren't  they  lovely?"  chimed  Gilbert.  "I 
remember  them  very  well.  They  are  by 
Grinling  Gibbons." 

Thus  the  friends  continued  to  talk  of  Lon- 
don and  Paris,  brightened  by  anecdotes  of 
Mildred's  travelling  experiences,  until  it  be- 
came Gilbert's  turn  to  give  an  account  of  him- 
self. 

An  hour  passed  away  very  quickly  in  these 
pleasant  paths  of  conversation  and  friendly 
gossip. 

Presently  Mildred  turned  to  her  personal 
affairs. 

"I  suppose  you  haven't  heard,  what  I  have 
just  learned,  Mr.  Greene,  that  Wild  Acres  has 
been  sold?" 

"Has  it?"  he  replied  in  a  tone  of  surprise. 

"Yes ;  and  the  strange  part  of  it  is,"  she  con- 
tinued, "that  I  don't  know  the  name  of  the 


YE  SUN  WILL  SHINE  301 

purchaser.  Mr.  Carpenter  is  pledged  to 
secrecy — the  strictest  secrecy.  I  suppose  in 
time  it  will  all  come  out;  but  just  now  it  is 
very  mysterious.  I'd  much  rather  know  who 
is  going  to  have  it,  though.  Mr.  Carpenter 
has  arranged  for  me  to  go  and  see  it  once 
again." 

"When  are  you  going?" 

"To-morrow." 

"You'll  be  lonely,  won't  you?" 

"Oh,  no;  Mrs.  O'Toole,  my  old  house- 
keeper, will  be  there;  and  she  will  stay  with 
me  the  two  or  three  days  that  I  shall  spend  in 
the  dear  old  place.  I've  got  to  look  over  some 
personal  things  in  the  attic.  Oh,  I  forgot  to 
tell  you  that  all  the  old  furniture,  silver,  china 
and  glass  have  been  sold  with  the  house." 

"That's  awfully  hard  on  you,  Miss  Ashton, 
isn't  it?" 

"Yes,  it  is,"  answered  Mildred,  sadly;  "but 
the  strange  Unknown  wouldn't  have  it  under 
any  other  conditions." 

"Grasping  brute!"  muttered  Gilbert,  sav- 
agely. 

"No,  he  wouldn't,"  continued  Mildred, 
"and  Mr.  Carpenter  told  me  I  had  better  take 
the  offer.  In  fact,  he  insisted  that  I  should. 


302     A  DAUGHTER  OF  THE  REVOLUTION 

Mr.  Carpenter  seems  to  have  taken  a  desper- 
ate fancy  to  this  purchaser;  and  he  told  me 
that  I  must  accept  this  wonderful  offer,  that 
nothing  like  it  would  ever  come  to  me  again. 
I  never  saw  Mr.  Carpenter  so  excited  about 
anything  before.  It  is  all  very  strange!" 

Mildred  paused  for  a  while  and  then  con- 
tinued: "It  is  terribly  hard  for  me  to  let  it 
go,  Mr.  Greene;  but,  strange  as  it  may  seem, 
I  can  stand  selling  it  better  than  I  did  renting 
it  two  years  ago.  You  have  no  idea  what  it 
cost  me  to  give  up  my  old  home  to  strangers. 
But  I've  learned  how  to  bear  things  philo- 
sophically. If  any  one  had  told  me  two  years 
ago  that  I  would  one  day  be  talking  calmly 
like  this  about  selling  it,  I  should  have  been 
furious, — simply  furious." 

"I  can't  imagine  your  being  furious,  Miss 
Ashton.  That  adjective  doesn't  seem  to  be- 
long to  you,"  replied  Mr.  Greene. 

"Mr.  Greene,"  said  Mildred,  after  another 
pause,  "I'm  going  to  ask  a  favor  of  you." 

"What  is  it?"  he  inquired  eagerly. 

"I  want  you  to  help  me  invest  the  money 
that  I  shall  get  for  the  property." 

"What  will  Mr.  Carpenter  say?" 

"I  don't  care  what  he  says,"  replied  Mil- 


YE  SUN  WILL  SHINE  303 

dred.  "I  want  your  advice.  Think  it  over 
— please — and  tell  me  of  some  good  invest- 
ments." 

Mildred  chanced  to  look  up.  And  in  that 
look  a  new  world  opened  to  her.  Gilbert 
Greene  was  gazing  at  her — deep  down  into 
her  very  heart.  And  his  gaze,  fervent  and  in- 
tense, held  a  question.  N  Mildred's  eyes  fell, 
and  silence  enveloped  the  two.  It  seemed  an 
hour  to  Mildred — an  hour  of  heart  searching 
and  contest,  a  vivid  reckoning  of  herself  and 
of  him,  a  summary  of  past  thoughts  and  emo- 
tions, trivial  in  themselves  as  they  happened, 
but  now,  in  their  total  so  commanding  that 
they  overwhelmed  her.  At  length,  she  raised 
her  eyes  and  met  Gilbert's  gaze  again — held 
it  till  all  was  blurred  with  tears. 
Then  she  heard  him  speak: 
"Mildred,  dear  heart,  I  love  you." 
Mildred  felt  as  if  she  had  been  caught  in  a 
whirlwind;  as  if  her  soul  and  spirit  had  been 
mysteriously  and  divinely  lifted  from  her, 
swirled  into  space,  brought  back  and  placed 
in  the  keeping  of  another.  She  knew  now 
what  Love  meant  and  that  Gilbert  Greene 
was  the  one  love  of  her  life,  the  only  man  for 
her,  once  and  forever. 


304     A  DAUGHTER  OF  THE  REVOLUTION 

What  happens?  What  does  it?  Who 
waves  the  magic  wand? 

One  moment  ago  Mr.  Greene  and  Miss 
Ashton  were  quietly  talking  under  formal 
conditions.  A  glance — a  single,  deep  glance 
— had  changed  the  world  for  them.  Their 
hearts  and  spirits  had  become  united  and  now 
vibrated  as  one. 

"Mildred,"  said  Gilbert  softly,  "will  you 
go  with  me  to-morrow  to  Wild  Acres?  I 
will  call  for  you  and  take  you  down  to  Port 
Washington  in  my  car." 

"I'd  love  it,"  cried  Mildred  eagerly,  "I'd 
like  you  to  see  Wild  Acres.  You  ought  to 
know  it  now.  You  will  have  to  be  interested 
in  everything  that  interests  me.  That's  one 
of  the  penalties." 

"What  are  the  others?"  asked  Gilbert. 
"The  more  the  merrier  for  me.  I  adore 
penalties  of  this  kind." 

"Oh,  you'll  find  out  soon  enough,"  replied 
Mildred,  airily.  "At  any  rate,  that's  one  of 
them.  You've  got  to  rejoice  when  I  rejoice 
and  weep  when  I  weep;  and  you've  got  to 
weep  some  tears  with  me  over  Wild  Acres. 
There!" 

"I'll  weep  just  as  many  as  you  like,"  said 


YE  SUN  WILL  SHINE  305 

Gilbert.  "Must  I  fill  tear-bottles,  or  buck- 
ets? Take  your  choice.  And  now  good- 
night,— dearest  one,  good-night;  I'll  be  here 


to-morrow  at  ten." 


Mrs.  O'Toole  came  on  the  portico  to 
greet  Miss  Mildred,  when  she  heard  the  ap- 
proaching automobile.  She  was  overjoyed. 
Mildred  was  so  happy  to  see  her  kind,  fa- 
miliar face  that  she  did  not  notice  the  look 
of  recognition  which  Mrs.  O'Toole  gave  to 
Gilbert  and  which  Gilbert  ignored. 

Mildred,  on  jumping  out  of  the  car,  threw 
her  arms  around  the  old  housekeeper  and 
kissed  her  affectionately,  noticing,  however, 
that  the  latter  had  aged  a  good  deal  in  the  past 
year  and  that  she  walked  with  a  feebler  step. 

"Nothing  is  changed,  is  it?"  Mildred  said, 
gaily,  as  she  entered  the  hall.  "I  must  run 
all  over  the  house.  Mrs.  O'Toole,  I  feel  as  if 
I  were  six  years  old  again.  I  must  go  into 
every  nook  and  corner!  Oh,  I  am  so  glad  to 
be  at  home  again.  If  only  I  could  stay  here 
forever!" 

In  the  course  of  half  an  hour  Mildred  was 
seated  comfortably  in  a  big,  easy  chair  in  the 
library  and  wondering  why  Gilbert,  who  had 
gone  to  put  the  car  into  the  garage,  had  not 


306      A  DAUGHTER  OF  THE  REVOLUTION 

returned.  She  was  about  to  go  in  search  of 
him,  when  Mrs.  O'Toole  came  in,  bringing  a 
package  and  a  letter. 

"Mr.  Greene  told  me  to  give  you  this,  Miss 
Mildred,"  said  Mrs.  O'Toole,  who  was  smil- 
ing broadly. 

Mildred,  greatly  puzzled,  took  the  package 
without  a  word.  She  opened  the  letter  to 
read: 

Dear  Mildred: 

The  new  owner  of  Wild  Acres  has  asked  me  to  see 
that  you  receive  this  package  on  your  arrival. 

I  am  going  into  the  Rosary  to  have  a  smoke.  Will 
you  join  me  there?  Yours  ever, 

GILBERT. 

"It  feels  like  a  jewel  case,"  said  Mildred, 
as  she  looked  at  the  strange  handwriting  of  the 
address: 

Miss  Ashton, 
Wild  Acres, 

Port  Washington. 
Please  open 
immediately. 

Mildred's  surmise  was  correct.  A  jewel 
case  it  was;  but  on  lifting  the  lid  of  sapphire 
velvet  instead  of  finding  upon  the  white  satin 


YE  SUN  WILL  SHINE  307 

a  necklace,  or  a  piece  of  silver,  her  eyes  beheld 
two  large  keys.  She  knew  them  very  well. 
The  copper  one  was  the  key  of  the  front  door; 
the  big  iron  one  belonged  to  the  entrance  gate. 
The  accompanying  card,  in  the  same  strange 
autograph,  read: 

"These  keys  are  for  Miss  Mildred  Ash- 
ton,  to  whom  Mr.  Carpenter  will  hand  the 
deed  of  Wild  Acres  to-morrow  in  proper 
form." 

"I  do  not  understand  this,"  exclaimed  the 
stupefied  Mildred.  "Who  could  have  done 
such  a  thing?  How  can  I  accept  such  a  gift 
from  a  stranger?  I  must  find  Gilbert  and 
ask  him  what  I  shall  do.  There  must  surely 
be  some  mistake." 

With  that,  Mildred  hurriedly  closed  the 
case  and  flew  out  of  the  house.  She  found 
Gilbert  waiting  for  her  at  the  foot  of  the 
grass  steps. 

"Gilbert,"  cried  Mildred,  handing  the  card 
to  him,  "what  can  this  mean?  I  don't  un- 
derstand it  at  all."  She  looked  up  into  Gil- 
bert's face  and  then: 

"Why,  Gilbert!— was  it?— Did  you?— Oh, 
my  dear!" 

"I  certainly  did,"  Gilbert  answered,  with 


3o8     A  DAUGHTER  OF  THE  REVOLUTION 

a  merry  twinkle  in  his  eyes.  "I  bought  it 
for  you,  hoping  that  you  might  love  me  some 
day;  and,  if  not,  at  least  I  could  have  the  home 
where  you  had  spent  most  of  your  life  and 
which  I  could  leave  to  you.  It  is  now  yours, 
Mildred." 

"No,  ours''  replied  Mildred,  burying  her 
face  on  his  shoulder. 

Recovering,  she  said,  "Come  here!"  And 
drawing  him  gently  to  the  Sun-dial,  "Read 
this." 

Through  the  garlands  of  red  and  pink  roses, 
deliciously  sweet  in  the  hot  June  sunshine, 
Gilbert  read  aloud: 

"I  mark  ye  hours, 

Man  notes  ye  time; 
Spite  storme  and  showers 
Ye  sun  will  shine." 

"I  came  here,"  said  Mildred,  "one  dreary 
November  afternoon,  two  years  ago,  full  of 
distress  that  I  had  to  leave  my  old  home.  I 
stood  in  this  very  spot  and  read  those  words. 
They  comforted  me;  and  I  resolved  that  I 
would  take  that  message  to  heart  and  try  to 
find  the  sunshine.  I  also  resolved,  then  and 
there,  that  I  would  be  a  true  daughter  of  my 
house  and  race:  to  bear  whatever  trials  might 


YE  SUN  WILL  SHINE  309 

come  to  me  with  fortitude;  and  courageously 
to  do  whatever  fortune  might  appoint.  I 
have  been  through  some  hard  experiences. 
My  reward  is  too  great!  Could  I  ever  have 
imagined  that  such  a  sun  was  shining  all  the 
time  for  me  behind  the  clouds?  Such  a  light 
upon  my  path,  as  yo\i  are,  Gilbert,  dear,  for 
me!" 

Never  had  The  Rosary  looked  more  beau- 
tiful than  at  this  hour  under  the  cloudless  sky. 
How  bright  the  sun!  How  warm  and  sweet 
the  roses!  How  true  and  tender  the  lovers! 

A  thrush  in  a  tall,  red  rosebush  near  the 
Sun-dial  tried  to  voice  it  all  in  passionate  song, 
nearly  bursting  his  little  throat  in  ecstasy;  and 
his  song  was  this : 

"Sunshine  and  roses;  light  and  perfume; 
and,  better  still,  LOVE  that  makes  all  things 
perfect: — Love!  Love!  Love!" 


THE  END 


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